


Accidental Magic

by vivi1138



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexuality, Come Swallowing, Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley Friendship, Hijacked owls, M/M, Mainly a happy story, Mention Of Homophobia, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Rimming, Roommates, Sex Magic, children in peril, the Ministry is filled with idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2020-07-10 02:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19898182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivi1138/pseuds/vivi1138
Summary: After the war, Draco left the magical world. He doesn’t lead the easiest life, doesn't sleep enough and has another mouth to feed. He doesn’t expect to be forced to go back early, but when his son’s accidental magic threatens the Statute of Secrecy, there’s only one person who can help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have not given permission for this fic to be present on any App or website other than Ao3. I make no money out of this. Do not use applications to read this. Every fic on Ao3 can be downloaded to be read offline.
> 
> \--------------  
> This story will contain failing friendships. While it's not my intent, the way some things are presented could be close to character bashing. I want to make it clear that those characters are that way for a reason, and they need help. 
> 
> Draco and Harry are not among them.
> 
> \---------------  
> Beta for the first 4 chapters: [p1013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013) Thank you!!!  
> 
> 
> _Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea behind this fic and the few original characters. The rest belongs to J.K.Rowling._
> 
>   
> \---------------
> 
> Do not copy this story, post it on another site, or translate it without my permission, please.

The wet spot on the ceiling was growing larger every day, and it bothered Draco immensely. He was used to the washed-out green of the old curtains framing his small window, to the creaking floorboards and the leaking shower head in the public bathroom where he could barely turn around without hitting something. He was fine with the crooked desk, the paint peeling from the walls - he didn’t mind any of this. But that spot, right above his head when he was laying down? It taunted him. Reminded him of everything that had gone wrong in his life. It worried him because it could bring  mould into his tiny living space and threaten the health of his child.

His son. Scorpius. A fragile little thing who looked at him like Draco was the  centre of the universe, like he had never done anything wrong. A little boy who loved him and needed him and didn’t care if, under his left sleeve, Draco hid the proof of his mistakes. And he would be damned if he let anything happen to him. 

On July 5th, 1998, he had been sentenced to six months in Azkaban, followed by three and a half years in exile. He was forbidden from setting foot into the Wizarding World, was required to surrender his wand, and more than that, he was to have no contact with any Slytherin until he was freed from his obligations. At the time, he had been too numb to care. He did remember Potter’s explosive reaction at the blatant discrimination against his Housemates and even if today, the memory had almost entirely faded, it still brought a smile to his lips. Potter was just so noble. An hour before freaking out in public, the Boy-Who-Lived had testified on Draco’s behalf, nearly bringing him to tears. He would take this little fact to his grave.

Without Potter, Draco would have been sentenced to life in Azkaban. The  Wizengamot wanted to make an example of his family and didn’t care that he had never killed anyone, or that he was a minor when he committed his worst offences. He was charged with his father’s crimes. And Potter had saved the day, calm and collected, managing to call these people out on their unfairness and cruelty, and likely saving Draco’s life in the process.

Too bad his meltdown had caused him to lose their trust a short while later. By then though, Draco was already judged and no one could go back and change that decision. And so, he spent six months in a damp, freezing cell in the North Sea, keeping himself sane because he knew he wasn’t a monster. When he felt himself slip, he remembered Potter screaming that he hadn’t fought so the Slytherins would be  ostracised . 

It made Draco wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t tried to cast the  Cruciatus in the bathroom in Sixth Year. Would he have accepted Potter’s help? He didn’t doubt it would have been offered.

This was all a moot point today. Potter was probably enjoying life as an  Auror , without any worry. He was likely married to the  Weaselette , perhaps even with a kid of his own by now. Draco could easily picture Potter surrounded by gingers, laughing carelessly, wearing one of those warm-looking sweaters he always received for Christmas. Draco highly doubted anyone begrudged him his little crisis at the Ministry.

Old Draco would be burning with jealousy. The Draco who survived Azkaban, however, sometimes smiled as he imagined his school rival playing with a mini-Potter, and there was no doubt in his mind that the young man deserved happiness.

Living in squalor for so long, with his son as his only joy, had made him reevaluate many of his beliefs. He was still proud of his name and ancestry, but saw the massive flaws in his upbringing and felt ashamed of his  behaviour as a teen.

A few weeks after his stay in Azkaban, when he was struggling in the Muggle world and sharing a squat with drug addicts, he had been found by none other than Lady Greengrass. As a graduate of  Castelobruxo , she had no restriction if she wished to see him. The regal woman from Columbia had taken one look at his living conditions, then dragged him out of the dilapidated building with such a firm grip that his upper arm ended up bruised. Unaccustomed to violence from one of the ladies his mother used to invite for tea, he had cowered until she had told him to stop his ridiculous antics and pull himself together.

“Do you know what you did last June, Draco?” she’d asked, and he’d found himself unable to recall. June had been a mess. He’d spent most of it drunk, lost between near-suicidal thoughts, traumatic dreams and flashbacks, and intense relief at the knowledge that this was the end, the Dark Lord was gone for good.

He was forced to remember a party at the Malfoy townhouse, where he and his parents were on house arrest while the Manor was searched. His friends, who were still allowed to come and see him, had brought games and alcohol. The night had become a blur, but as Lady Greengrass stared at him in disapproval, he’d put two and two together and identified a repressed memory. Skin on skin, too many hands,  smouldering warmth. The feel of a cock up his  arse , and his cock surrounded by wet heat, breasts pressed against his chest, a powerful orgasm immediately followed by guilt and despair.

He’d slept with his childhood friends because he’d needed to know he was still alive.

Somehow, Lady Greengrass had known, and at that moment, he’d strongly believed she would kill him.

But she hadn’t.

Instead, she’d told him he’d been watched closely since his release and a room had been secured for him in a Muggle establishment. It had been paid for out of the Greengrass accounts for the duration of Draco’s exile, but their generosity had a price: Astoria, their youngest daughter, had given birth to a little boy on January 13th. A Malfoy child, one her family wanted nothing to do with.

“The least you can do, after your shameful conduct, is to raise him yourself.”

Lady Greengrass’ words still rang in his head sometimes. He’d been terrified and  desperate, he’d begged her to find another way until he’d held the newborn in his arms. He’d known then that he would do anything for him.

Together, they’d moved into a hostel. He had no idea what the term stood for. He was given a room on the top floor, far from the common areas where, he would soon learn, young  travellers enjoyed loud music every night. And, when he thought about the squat, he could only feel grateful to the Greengrass family.

Yes, his room had  mould on the ceiling in winter, but it was relatively quiet, especially during the low season. He didn’t have his own bathroom, only a microwave and a kettle. It was one of five private rooms in the building and the only one for long-term rental. The hostel was managed by a middle-aged couple who’d backpacked around the world in their twenties, and a man, Abel, who worked part-time as a bouncer for a nearby club: a mountain of muscles, born in Ethiopia, with a wicked sense of  humour . The three of them liked Draco, to his never-ending surprise, but more than that, Abel was absolutely smitten with the baby. Draco had known they were in good hands the minute the man had laid eyes on Scorpius and gotten emotional because he missed his little siblings in his home country.

Since then, Scorpius and Draco became part of a strange family. At first, wary of Muggles, especially after experiencing their darker side in the squat, Draco barely left his room. He was too busy taking care of his infant son and resting when he finally went to sleep anyway. He had some money, given by Lady Greengrass, so he could support himself and the baby for a few months, but he wanted to be able to afford healthy food and, to do this, he needed a job.

Abel volunteered to help him navigate the Muggle world. It took a long time, but ultimately, Draco got Muggle papers for both himself and Scorpius and opened an account with Barclays. By then, he trusted the hostel owners enough to let them babysit his child. Soon after, Abel got him hired at his workplace as a waiter. He quickly became an excellent barman when the previous one left, and still held the same job today.

With his rent paid for by the Greengrass matriarch, he focused on his health, on Scorpius’ needs, and saved the rest of his small salary.

He was still glaring at the ceiling when someone knocked on his door. After making sure his shirt wasn’t inside out, he opened it and smiled at Eva, one of the cleaning ladies. “Hi, did you need something?” 

He saw a group of bleary-eyed teens come out of their dormitory at the end of the corridor and wondered where they came from. When he had enough time, he sometimes hovered near the common areas and listened to fantastic or horrible travel stories. Many backpackers took an instant liking to Scorpius and told him all about their insane adventures, to the boy’s delight, even if he didn’t understand everything they said.

Eva followed his gaze and rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe the mess they left in the kitchen.” Oh, yes, after three years, he could easily imagine it. “Anyway, there’s someone who wants to speak to you downstairs.”

Damnit. Did he forget to pay something? He thanked her and headed for the elevator, which seemed determined to stop at every floor and would take ages to reach him. With a frustrated sigh, he took the stairs. It was 10 am, his bedtime, he was tired, and he really didn’t want to deal with anyone today. He didn’t get much sleep as it was. Every second was precious.

His anger evaporated as soon as he saw the men waiting for him. They had Scorpius. His breath caught. 

“DADDY!”

The small boy ran straight into his arms and Draco wrapped them protectively around him. He held him on his hip, forgetting all about sleeping upon noticing the tear tracks on his cheeks. 

“It’s okay, I’m here, you’re alright,” he murmured, kissing Scorpius’ forehead and running a hand through his white-blond hair.

“Malfoy, is there somewhere we can talk?” 

He frowned at the men and indicated the storage room. Abel came to the rescue and took Scorpius in his arms with a nod, speaking about ice cream and making Scorpius squeal happily. Draco’s relief was short-lived because when he joined the men in the storeroom, they took out their wands and cast a Silencing Charm and Muggle Repelling wards on the door. Draco’s eyes widened. After so long away from magic, his blood seemed to sing with need. Wetting his lips, he looked at them and  recognised the minuscule Ministry pin on their otherwise Muggle jackets.

“I’m very sorry, is there a problem? What happened to my son?”

“How some freak like you managed to reproduce, Malfoy, I can’t understand it,” one of them muttered, quickly silenced by the other, who stepped on his foot rather forcefully.

“ Mr Malfoy,” he started, “the Ministry was unaware of the existence of your progeny.”

“His paperwork is entirely Muggle, Sir.” Draco wanted to scream and run back to his child, but he kept a neutral expression and became a picture of calm. 

“I see.”

“Excuse me, did I do something to violate the terms of my exile?”

The rude Ministry worker snorted, so Draco just decided to ignore him. The other  sighed . “You did not. We are here because your son performed accidental magic at his daycare today.”

He barely refrained from grinning. Oh, he was so proud. Scorpius had shown his magical abilities when he was very young, summoning food or toys, but always in private, and the frequency of his displays had lessened lately. What Draco didn’t understand was why this warranted a visit from the Ministry.

He got his answer immediately.

“Due to the severity of the… display,” the polite man continued, “ Obliviators were called.”

Ah. That explained it a bit better.

“What happened?”

“He flew. Outside, in plain view of dozens of Muggles. He landed in a tree, jumped down, and floated to the ground.”

Draco thought his heart would leap out of his chest and he stared at them in horror. Not at the thought that so many Muggles had seen him, but… what if Scorpius hadn’t floated? Or what if he had flown away? 

They misread his expression. “I see you understand the severity of the situation.”

“My apologies, but why does this warrant a visit from the Ministry?” Fear coiled deep in his guts and he thought something had gotten stuck in his throat. 

“Such a display is not unprecedented but is extremely rare. We have never faced such a serious offence with Muggle-raised children in decades.”

Draco clenched his fists.

“We’ve reviewed the Accidental Magic registry and concluded that he used to perform magic regularly, much more than any other child his age. We understand that this is out of his control. In this case, the only option is to welcome him into the magical world, where no one will need  Obliviators .”

A sudden heaviness settled in his stomach. “You- you don’t mean what I think you mean, surely.” It couldn’t be. They wouldn’t dare separate a father from his child. 

But when the arsehole who had stayed mercifully  quiet snickered, he knew, and it took all his strength not to sob and beg. Of course, they’d dare. He was a Malfoy. He was nothing to them.

The other man looked sympathetic and Draco wanted to punch him. “I am very sorry,  Mr Malfoy. But you have an opportunity to find someone for him before we do, as long as they accept before Friday and are not on the list of people you aren’t allowed to contact.”

Helplessly, Draco tried to think of the witches and wizards he knew, those who were not Slytherins and would agree to help him, and he found himself at a loss. He blinked back tears. “How- I’m sorry,” he coughed. “May I borrow a Ministry owl?”

The kind man (as kind as he could be when he wanted to steal Scorpius from him) shook his head. “I’ve been told that no owl will be available.”

“But Muggle post takes days. How am I supposed to find someone?”

Even if some of his schoolmates had Internet or a phone, how was he supposed to contact them? He thought he would look into the phone book, for Granger, perhaps, but then he remembered the hatred in her eyes the last time he’d seen her and decided he couldn’t hope she’d ever help him.

One hand squeezed his shoulder. He almost lashed out. He was told to expect a letter within the next few hours with the official documents that would allow them to take his son. Before they left, one of them tripped him, and Draco sprawled on the floor.

His elbow hurt and he didn’t care. He hurried to the reception area and picked up his boy, who was babbling with Abel and had ice cream all over his chin.

“What was that about?” The bouncer looked worried.

Trembling, Draco breathed in and out slowly. “I need to take the day off. No, the week. I can’t work like this.”

“You look pale. If you need me to watch  Scorp -”

“No. Thanks, I’ll be fine. I’m going back upstairs.”

His ride in the elevator lasted way too long. Once in his room, he cleaned up his son’s face and hands, answered his questions about why he wasn’t at school today, and even managed to cuddle with the child for a few minutes before Scorpius decided he’d rather have some fun with his fire truck.

While he played, Draco wanted to scream. How could the world he was from be so cruel? He tried to focus on Potter’s voice in his memories, arguing on his behalf, full of righteous anger, and the idea struck him.

Someone with a  Saviour complex would at least listen to him. And while he was quite sure he wouldn’t be able to find him in the phone book (even if Potter had a number, he probably kept it secret), he might have the perfect opportunity to send him a letter soon.

He took a Muggle pen and a lined piece of paper, cringed at how inelegant this all was, and while a part of his brain planned to hijack the Ministry owl that would bring him that disgusting official parchment, another part of him wrote words he’d never have thought he’d need to put on paper.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes, an owl was stubborn enough to spend hours examining anti-post wards, but it always left in the end. This one, however, had managed to knock itself out, to the annoyance of one Harry James Potter who just wanted to be left alone.

In reality, what he wished for was that the Wizarding World would go fuck itself, preferably with a cactus, but sadly this was not happening. All he could do right now was glare at the unconscious bird laying in the snow and curse his heart for being so weak to the suffering of animals. With a deep, annoyed sigh, he closed his book, placed it on the coffee table and rose from his seat near the fireplace. He walked around his lazy golden retriever, who was sleeping so much it was akin to hibernation, grabbed his coat, and headed outside.

He lived in a small cottage in Northern Scotland, at the end of a long road that had never been taken care of. In winter, the snow would sometimes pile up and no one would remove it until it either disappeared, or Harry got fed up and Vanished it. Around his home, he could only see trees and hills in every direction, and it suited him just fine.

The cottage had two floors and a small basement hiding a potions lab. The upper floor was tiny, as it stood directly under the roof and lacked height. Harry had chosen to separate it into two bedrooms. The lower floor was cramped, with a small kitchen, a cosy sitting area around the fireplace, an unused bedroom, a bathroom and the boiler room. The windows were small, the curtains light, the walls made of large stones. Knicks-knacks littered the shelves he’d installed after buying the house. It was warm and inviting, and during the winter months, Harry could spend days by the fire, reading or daydreaming. In the spring and summer, he tended to his large garden, and nobody bothered him.

Until today, he’d been able to limit his interactions with the magical world to the strict minimum. Sometimes, he needed books or supplies, and Luna, Ginny or Neville were always glad to help him. They knew better than to send him an owl though, and curiosity soon replaced his sour mood.

The eagle owl was unresponsive when he picked it up. He carried it into the house, made a nest with the numerous pillows littering the carpet, and placed it delicately inside. He prepared a bowl of water and found some owl treats at the back of his pet food cupboard. He was still holding the folded paper when the owl stirred, hooted, and seemed to recover.

He didn’t know what to do. Letters had driven him away from the world he had saved, what if this was one more list of insults? What if it hurt to read it? At the same time, he wondered who would send him something without even an envelope, on a sheet that clearly came from a cheap paper block. The handwriting was delicate and precise. Before he could stop himself, he was already reading, and after the first few words, he forgot he needed air in his lungs.

_ To Harry James Potter, _

_ I find myself hoping that you will not burn this letter immediately. I don’t know who, aside from you, would ever agree to read something I wrote. I do not have time to wax poetic and I have no choice but to beg for your help. _

_ The Ministry wants to take my son away from me. We live in the Muggle world as part of my sentence and my child’s accidental magic is becoming a serious problem. They refuse to ignore it and will come for him on Friday unless I find someone magical to take him. _

_ My son is all I have. Please help me.  _

_ You can find my address and phone number at the bottom. I don’t know what else to do.  _

_ Draco L. Malfoy _

_ P.S: this is a Ministry owl, don’t send it back, they don’t know I’ve used it. _

A mug exploded on the kitchen counter. Harry reigned in his magic, watched the grumpy owl leave. “Fuck.” He breathed in and out to calm himself down. 

Who had written the letter meant nothing; the Ministry trying to screw him over, however? Harry hated them. He wasn’t even surprised that they would find a way to make Malfoy’s life hell under the cover of protection for their world, because they wanted him to pay for the war. What astonished him was the fact that Malfoy was a father. When he added that to the terms of his probation, he guessed that, with no access to his home or money, he didn’t exactly live a fancy life.

Harry found himself wishing he had a phone. Instead, he grabbed some Floo powder and stuck his head into the fire, calling for The Snitch, Ginny Weasley’s home.

She had a towel wrapped around her head and was wrapped in a blue bathrobe. “Well, that’s a surprise.”

He felt slightly guilty. His self-imposed exile meant that he rarely contacted anyone. “Sorry, should I wait?”

She snorted and allowed him to come through. As usual, he tripped and fell on the carpet and made a mess.

“Tea?” she offered. 

He nodded and accepted the mug. It was something he had liked when they were still dating: she always kept a thermos filled with a hot beverage. “You’re alone?” He tried to calm down as he sipped his Earl Grey (a dash of milk, two sugars).

“Yep. Broke up with Oliver. Just couldn’t stand the nicknames he gave to our body parts.”

Harry snickered into his mug. “Oh, my beautiful Quaffle, may I lick your goal post?”

She barked out a laugh and sat down next to him on the old and worn sofa. Her apartment, near Glasgow, looked like a version of the Burrow if it was filled with Quidditch paraphernalia. Ginny was a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, but apparently, even her obsession with the sport had limits, if Oliver Wood’s comments were too much. 

“Anyway, I guess you’re not here to soothe my broken heart, so what’s up?”

He bit his lower lip and showed her Malfoy’s letter. He watched her eyebrows climb up to her hairline and felt vindicated when he recognised the fury in her eyes. He could always count on her to understand what others wouldn’t. Just thinking about speaking to Ron and Hermione about it threatened to make him break out in hives. 

“All right, let’s go.”

He blinked owlishly. “What?”

“Come on!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him up. “I don’t have a phone, so we’re making a surprise visit. I’ll be right back!” She ran into the bathroom, and Harry wondered what he had gotten himself into. 

Ginny had always been impulsive, but this was on another level. It made him all warm and fuzzy; he loved that girl. Too bad he could never bring himself to fall in love with her.

Once Ginny was dressed, she Apparated him to their usual back street in Muggle London. Harry hoped that his beard and messy bun would save him from recognition. It usually worked if no one paid attention to his glasses. They hailed a cab. 

Harry’s expectations of the hostel were spot on, at least from the outside. Ginny paid their driver and took in the appearance of the building. “So, what’s a hostel exactly?”

“A cheap hotel for travellers who aren’t too worried about privacy.”

The concept seemed to boggle her mind, but she admitted it was a smart idea. Harry led her to the door, trying to smother his anxiety - it kept screaming at him, asking what he was doing, why he couldn’t just let it be and stay home with his dog. He managed to keep himself calm when they were welcomed by a smiling man who could have flattened them with a single punch.

Ginny grinned and took over, to Harry’s relief. “Hi, really sorry to bother you. We’re looking for Draco Malfoy-”

The man’s smile vanished and the light in his eyes dimmed. “Why? Are you coming to upset him again?”

“He contacted me an hour ago,” Harry explained, which seemed to reassure the man. 

He used his mobile phone to send a text, waited a minute, checked the device, then nodded and pointed at the elevator with his thumb. “He’s on his way.”

Ginny admired the hundreds of postcards covering the walls, the handprints on every surface, each with a date, name and country, while Harry wrung his hands and nibbled on his lower lip. He hadn’t felt this kind of anticipation in ages. When Malfoy came out of the elevator with a little boy in his arms, the first thought that went through his mind was how attractive he was.

Harry almost snorted at himself. Of course, Malfoy was handsome. Beautiful, even. He still looked like a delicate porcelain doll, with his perfect skin, his perfect hair, his perfect eyes. He wore his hair messier now and he had grown into his pointy features. Objectively, though, Harry had to admit he appeared exhausted and sad. And completely lost. He kept glancing at him and Ginny with wide eyes, and Harry could have sworn he wanted to cry. 

“You actually came?” His voice was unsure, like he believed Harry would just laugh at him and leave. 

Ginny saved him from embarrassing himself, because she always had it together, and she moved closer, looking at the boy who was hiding his adorable little face against his father’s neck and peeking shyly. “Malfoy, good to see you again. Who’s this, then?” 

“‘m Sco’pius and ‘m twee!” 

Sometimes, when he was alone and saw something really cute, Harry made weird squeaky noises. He almost let one out right there and then.

“Good to meet you, Scorpius. I’m Ginny, and this is my friend Harry.” She looked at Malfoy. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” 

“The kitchen. There’s tea.” 

Harry finally found his voice. “Tea’s good.” 

Malfoy led them down a corridor filled with luggage, and he kept looking at them as if he didn’t believe they were truly here. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess. A group just arrived earlier, but it’s too early to check-in. They leave their luggage here and come back in the evening.” 

“Isn’t it a bit noisy, living here with so many people?” Harry asked. Obviously, for him, anything was too noisy these days, but that tended to happen if you lived like a hermit in the countryside. 

Malfoy gave him a wry look above his shoulder and Scorpius’s head popped up, no longer shy. “Dey loud! Daddy go like dis.” He made an angry face, then lowered his voice. “Daddy say bad words!” 

Ginny smirked. “Does he, really?” 

Scorpius nodded. “Den I sw-eep.” 

“That’s good.” 

They entered the kitchen and Scorpius wriggled out of his father’s arms, then ran to the other side of the room where he had left some toys. Malfoy shrugged at Ginny’s inquisitive gaze. “Tourists like to bring him gifts. We leave them in the common areas so he doesn’t need to go upstairs if he gets bored. I’m afraid he’ll get stuck inside the elevator if he takes it alone.” 

When Harry had seen the address on the letter, he had feared he would find Malfoy living in horrifying conditions. While the hostel was far from luxurious, it was clean, and the mug he was given looked brand new. They sat together in silence, watching the child play until Malfoy lowered his eyes and stared at his hands. 

“I would like to apologise for bothering you with my problems. I don’t know what to think, but I’m beyond grateful that you didn’t burn my letter.” 

Harry felt a tug of protectiveness. It was ridiculous. “I want to help.” 

“ _ We _ want to help.”

“Yeah. So, the Ministry wants to separate you two and it looks like they’re notifying you to be polite, but they think you won’t be able to find help anyway, right?”

Malfoy nodded. “Do you remember the terms of my probation?” 

Harry did and enumerated them. He couldn’t forget, as they had been the start of his problems with his friends and the Wizarding World itself. He thought they had been fair - mostly. Azkaban without Dementors wasn’t likely to destroy Malfoy’s psyche, and forty-two months living as a Muggle wasn’t too harsh. The problem, which he had identified straight away and complained about, was that Malfoy was expected to start his new life without any help and without access to his money, which would be held until the end of his probation. The least they could have done would have been to give him Muggle papers. He was quite honestly surprised to see that he had done so well on his own. 

“Correct,” Malfoy acknowledged once Harry was done with the list. “So, everyone I know is either a Slytherin or someone who wishes I was dead. I can’t bear the thought of Scorpius being raised by someone who hates me. What if they take it out on him?” His hands shook a little, so he wrapped them around the warm mug. “You were my only option.” 

Harry knew all too well what it was like to be the unwanted child in a family. His heart hurt for father and son, and at that moment, he already knew he would do anything so the Ministry wouldn’t get their way. It reminded him of the case that made him leave the Aurors, and he hated it. He grabbed Malfoy’s thin wrist, feeling encouraged by Ginny’s presence. “What can I do?” 

It took a lot out of the other man to speak after that, his shoulders were tense and his voice warbled. “If- if you could take him? Raise him well, give him love? I- I trust you, Potter.” 

“What?” Anger burnt in Harry’s veins. “I’m here to make sure you can stay together. There’s no way I’d do that to you.” 

Malfoy met his eyes, visibly startled, and Ginny smiled. “He means that if you agree, he needs a roommate.” 

Internally, Harry groaned. He had jumped into this without thinking, but Ginny’s brain already had a solution, and he once again wondered how he would even survive without her help. Not that he disagreed. The idea was simple, and he didn’t mind living with Malfoy. They weren’t kids anymore. He also felt like he owed him. 

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy whispered with a look of horror. “Are you mocking me?” 

“We didn’t come all this way to make fun of you,” Ginny replied. “Harry has a small house. It’s far from everything and was bought off a Muggle realtor, so you won’t be in the magical world.” 

“But, Potter, you hate me!” 

“Not really.” He smiled. “We were both idiots, but we grew up.” 

Malfoy looked at his son. It was clear he was deeply worried but would put Scorpius’ safety above all. So, after a minute that seemed to stretch for hours, he eventually agreed. Ginny told him to pack and do what he needed to do, which raised the topic of his job. Malfoy decided to quit (Harry had a hard time imagining him as a barman), because there was no other choice, but another problem came from that decision, and Ginny joined Scorpius on the floor while Harry insisted that he had more money than he knew what to do with and Malfoy didn’t need to pay rent. He should have known better, though. Pureblood pride forbade him from accepting charity. 

“We’ll figure something out. I’m not completely isolated, there’s a Muggle village nearby.” 

“I’ll find a way to repay you.” 

“If you must. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Now, give me those Ministry papers.” 

He wished he could see the workers’ faces once they’d realise who had signed them. In a way, he guessed he would, as he would most likely be asked to confirm it in person, and the thought made him grin like a shark.


	3. Chapter 3

The reality of the situation sunk in when Draco found himself inside the small cottage with two suitcases and a massive backpack overflowing with Scorpius’ toys. This was it. He was back in a magical house and his son was safe and Merlin, that dog was huge and his child was already in love with it. Worse, it was Potter’s home. 

“How quaint.” 

Potter grinned, as if he thought Snarky Draco was funny. Since the world had turned upside down, it wouldn’t even surprise him that much. 

The Weaselette stood in front of him. “Welcome home, I guess. That lazy lump is Thor, and I see he already adopted your son. He’s harmless. All he does is sleep and eat. Not living up to his name at all.” She pointed at a door next to the stairs. “Your son’s room. Yours is upstairs. There’s a Cushioning Charm around the stairs for wandering gremlins who need their dad in the middle of the night. Make yourself at home!” 

He watched her bounce towards the kitchen where Potter was making tea, still bewildered, then shook himself and decided to investigate. 

He started by the first room and fought against the lump in his throat at the sight. It was perfect. They must have worked on it most of the night because it had fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, small furniture appropriate for a three-year-old, and the bed covers were enchanted with moving drawings of baby dragons attempting to walk or fly and falling over. The window showed the hills and a large empty field. When Draco looked up, he found the night sky glinting on the ceiling, and more importantly, the Scorpius constellation. He imagined the room filled with toys and books, and almost teared up. This was what he wanted to offer to his son. Not a mouldy room in a youth hostel, but a place to call home. Why would Potter do this for them? 

A little body barrelled into his legs. “Daddy! Daddy! The doggy licked my hands!” 

“Did you wash them?” 

An exaggerated nod was his answer before his big grey eyes widened as he took in the room. “Ooooh, pweeetty!” 

Draco gently pushed him forward. “Isn’t it? It’s your room, Scorp.” 

Those giant eyes stared up at him in wonder. “All mine?” 

“All yours.” He opened the backpack and placed it on the soft carpet. “Why don’t you start arranging your toys?” 

He made sure to keep the door open so Scorpius wouldn’t be scared and joined Potter and the Weaselette in the kitchen. He was offered some tea and accepted it gratefully. “Scorp’s room is beautiful. I don’t know how to repay you.” 

Potter looked embarrassed, scratching his neck, and avoiding his gaze. “It’s nothing.” 

“What he means is that he spent hours decorating yesterday,” Weaselette said with a grin. “Your room is upstairs.” 

Draco itched to explore it right now, so as soon as his new housemate nodded, he did just that. 

The door on the left was open and showing an incredibly messy room that obviously belonged to Potter. He smirked, but his old self’s unhealthy need to mess with the Boy-Who-Lived didn’t rear its ugly head. Instead, he left it alone and opened the other door. 

Unlike the child’s room, this one was bare. It was very small: the double bed took most of its width and the ceiling dipped on both sides. He had a large window above the bed, which made him smile as it meant he could see the sky at night. At the foot of the bed, there was enough space for a cupboard. Two shelves were screwed into the wall. It would be too small if he had to live in there all the time, but for a bedroom, it would do, and to be completely honest, Draco thought it was a beautiful place, with the wooden beams of the roof visible and the whiteness of it all. Only the shelves were made of the same wood as the beams. The bed looked very comfortable. 

Potter startled him when he popped his head in the room. “Hey. Everything alright?” 

Draco turned around. “It’s great. Thank you.” 

“If you have books or- well, it’s tiny, so if you don’t want to put all your stuff here, feel free to store them somewhere else. I’ve freed up space where I could.” 

This was good news. Draco didn’t want to overcrowd his bedroom, not that he owned many things. “Any rules you want me to follow? Anywhere I can’t go?” 

Potter seemed surprised. “Well, the usual. Respect my privacy, I’ll respect yours. Clean up after yourself. You can go everywhere, but you might want to keep Scorpius out of the fenced part of the garden. I grow potions ingredients. Fenced it because Thor loves digging.” 

“Potions?” Draco’s upper lip twitched. “And your house is still standing?” 

“I’m not that bad when I don’t have a certain someone throwing things into my cauldron and a giant bat distracting me.” 

“Point.” 

“Also, there’s a shed outside, warded, so Muggle tech works inside if you need to use your phone.” 

Draco wanted to deny how relieved he was. He’d become so dependent on Muggle devices in the past few years that suddenly going without them, or being only able to use them outside, would be slightly annoying. If only his old self had known how amazing they were! He appreciated the Internet, most of all. It helped him tremendously when he felt like he didn’t understand something and made him avoid many uncomfortable situations. Not that he could afford a computer. He’d have been quite ashamed if he had to ask for help to change the light bulb in his room five months ago; Google helped. The shed also meant he would be able to keep in contact with Abel without freezing to death. 

“What about cleaning and cooking?” At Harry’s raised eyebrows, he rolled his eyes. “I can do both. I’ve lived as a Muggle long enough. Turns out cooking is a bit like potions.” 

“That’s good. I’m not bad at it either. We can take turns. I use magic to clean, most of the time, so stuff mostly washes itself. If— if you want to use a wand, the Ministry won’t know it’s you.” 

That was a glaring loophole he’d only noticed after realising he didn’t have a wand anymore: while he was asked to live outside the Magical World and surrender his wand (which actually belonged to his grandfather and wasn’t the one he’d gotten from Ollivanders at eleven), nothing said he couldn’t practice magic if he wanted to. Since it would require visiting a wandmaker and thus, the world he was exiled from, he just decided to get used to doing things by hand. 

“Thanks, I guess. You wouldn’t happen to know where my wand is?” 

He bit his lip to keep from laughing at Harry’s stricken expression, and then he froze at the whisper that followed. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” 

“I said I have it. Your wand. I kept it. Told the Ministry it was lost in the battle, or they’d have insisted about keeping it in the War Museum. I’ll just- I’ll get it.” And he ran down the stairs, flustered. 

Draco’s heart was beating so fast, it was a wonder he wasn’t dizzy. He heard Scorpius babbling to his toys just below his room and tried to focus on his voice, until Harry came back upstairs, holding a wooden box. 

Draco had to excuse himself when he opened it and caressed his long-lost hawthorn wand. It wouldn’t do to cry in front of his childhood nemesis. 

As soon as he was alone in his new room, he hunched over and shuddered violently. He stayed there, staring at the ceiling, until he became restless and decided to personalise his living space. His clothes went into the cupboard, his Muggle pictures of Scorpius on the nightstand and shelves, his son’s artwork on the wall. He grabbed his books and after a short hesitation, decided to face the music, and went back downstairs. 

Ginevra was feeding Thor (really, Potter?) when he placed his Muggle novels on the shelves, strangely happy about the freed-up space. He could hear Scorpius talking to Potter, introducing his toys, insisting that Robert the sparkly yellow lobster was his favourite, and Draco knew he would change his mind in an hour. He liked it here. It didn’t feel like his own home, but what did, these days? Nothing had ever been as comfortable as his room at the Manor before the Dark Lord claimed the place as his stronghold, but perhaps this small house could make him forget the fear. He let a small smile form on his lips at the thought of the fairy lights in his son’s room. 

Draco had so many questions. He settled for observing his surroundings and being a good Slytherin. It would be easier to ask the Weaselette or Potter, but his brain had turned to mush, and he didn’t feel like it. His emotions, the exhaustion of staying awake during the day after a restless night… he couldn’t put his feelings into words and speaking to his personal saviour could result in an embarrassing display of weakness - because sometimes, when he was so out of it that the only thing keeping him awake was the fact that he could only sleep if he was laying down, he blurted out truths he would rather hide forever. Pansy and Theo had sometimes taken advantage of this at Hogwarts, because they thought it was hilarious (it was not!). Thankfully, they never did it outside the dungeons. Talking to a tired Draco was like playing Truth or Dare with Veritaserum. 

He had no intention of revealing anything sensitive to Potter. 

So, he looked around, keeping his mouth shut. Ginevra didn’t seem to mind. 

He filed away each discovery for further investigation. Some of them would kill him if he didn’t understand them quickly: why was the Golden Trio absent from the pictures he saw? He recognised Longbottom, Lovegood, a man he faintly remembered as a Ravenclaw in their year, and several photographs of a small child with multicoloured hair. No snapshots of a romantic nature. The only one showing Ginevra had been taken in a bar. Potter was sitting next to her, but they just looked like good friends having a drink. Did the Weaselette live here too? He was surprised at the lack of rings on their fingers. Surely a Pureblood family like the Weasleys would insist on an early marriage. They might not agree with most Pureblood traditions, but the proper way to court someone and set gender roles had always seemed to be followed. 

From what he remembered from Sixth Year, they’d been attached at the hip, so something went wrong. He could swear it. 

He must have been staring at the picture a little too long because he found the redhead standing next to him with a little smirk on her freckled face. He had to admit she had grown into a beautiful woman. Not that he was attracted to her. The only reason he had managed to conceive Scorpius was that he had been drunk and, from what he pieced together, had been fucked by Theo (probably. Whoever it was had been behind or under him) while Astoria rode him. Women had never been attractive to him. He could appreciate beauty when he saw it, though. 

The Weaselette answered one of his silent questions, nodding at the pictures of the toddler. “This is Teddy. Harry’s godson.” 

“Who lets a small kid colour his hair green?” 

“He’s a Metamorphmagus.” Draco’s eyes widened. “Your cousin. Andromeda’s grandson.” 

She moved away from him, still smiling, and he focused on the pictures. He had no idea he still had family aside from his parents. This kid… this should be the Black Heir, if his grandmother was reinstated in the family. He was so cute. One of the pictures was dated December 12th, a few weeks ago, so that meant Scorpius had a cousin his age. Perhaps he could have a friend? If Andromeda let him. 

He didn’t dare hope. 

He turned around, catching sight of four wizarding pictures on the other wall, and he almost tripped on the dog when he recoiled in shock. He muttered an apology, thought he was stupid for speaking to a sleepy mutt, then squinted, and sure enough, he was in one of these pictures. 

Each of them was labelled Hogwarts Quidditch Team, 1992-1993. He and Potter were so tiny, and his hair was like a helmet (why?!). Their rivalry at the time had felt like such a serious, adult thing, and it had been no different than his feud against his father’s peacocks when he was five. 

And Potter didn’t mind having the Slytherin Team hanging on his wall. Anyone else would have kept the other three and burnt that one. 

A surge of emotion boiled in his stomach. He went back upstairs and hid in bed until exhaustion claimed him. 

He didn’t wake up until the next morning, when a warm and wiggly little body crawled under the quilt and poked his chest repeatedly. 

“Daddy! Daddy! Tis snowin’! Daddy!” 

Blearily, Draco opened his eyes. Everything was so white, so soft, the sheets smelled amazing. He wrapped his arms around his son, who let out a scream and started giggling. He buried his nose in his silky hair. “Morning. I love you, little man.” 

He could hear noises from the floor below, probably Potter getting ready. Inwardly, he cackled. What in Merlin’s name was he doing here? How was this his life? His eleven-year-old self would be so happy. Before Potter rejected him, he’d hoped they’d be friends, and now they lived together. 

Scorpius was getting restless, so it was time to face the first day of his new existence. Starting with finding his toothbrush in the mess he’d created when he’d emptied his bags. 

***

Harry had absolutely no idea what he was doing, or why Malfoy’s expression at the sight of his wand had been so heart-wrenching, but as he watched Thor and Scorpius cuddle the next morning after breakfast, he couldn’t bring himself to regret his impulsive decision (it was really Ginny’s, but he hadn’t exactly minded). 

Harry was lonely, and while he enjoyed it, sometimes he wished he had another presence in his home when he woke up after a nightmare. Adding a child to the house made it warmer already. His godson’s absence created a void that Scorpius would soon be filling. It wasn’t that Andromeda didn’t let him see Teddy, but she distrusted him, and ever since he left the city, she didn’t let the child stay overnight anymore. 

The reason Teddy didn’t live with him was all due to the trial and the opinion of the woman who, after all, didn’t know him at all. All Andromeda had heard was that, at the time, he had been prone to spectacular fits of accidental magic when his emotions ran high. She thought he was a danger to Teddy, and she disapproved of Remus and Nymphadora’s decision to name him godfather. It would never stop hurting, but he still hoped she’d change her mind, now that he had his magic under control. In the meantime, he would content himself with seeing the toddler once or twice a month. 

He did his best to put these thoughts to the back of his mind and distracted himself with a simple observation of his home. 

Malfoy’s presence could already be seen here and there after the first night. A nice black coat and a Slytherin scarf had joined Harry’s parka on the mantelpiece, a pair of sneakers, sturdy boots and elegant but cheap shoes had been placed under it. Scorpius’ shoes looked tiny and adorable next to them. In the kitchen, Harry found toddler tableware and a mug with the hostel logo printed on it. The bookshelves now had a dedicated space for Draco’s books. He didn’t have too many of them, having been unable to retrieve any from the Manor, but he did have his Seventh-Year course material and fifteen Muggle novels. Children’s books had been added to the shelves in his son’s room. 

The most glaring change had been the one Draco had been the most reluctant to accept: pictures. He’d wanted to keep them in his room, but Harry had told him this was his home too. When he finished clearing the mess in his room (and bugger, did Malfoy see all his crap on the floor?) and found adorable pictures of Draco and Scorpius above the fireplace, next to Harry’s photographs of his parents, Teddy and Sirius, relief had flooded him. 

With morning came new questions, such as Scorpius’ schooling. Harry understood Malfoy’s position when he said he would tutor his son at home. There was no need for a day-care until the boy was old enough for school anymore since Draco was now unemployed, and while it obviously stung his pride, he’d grudgingly told Harry that focusing on Scorpius would be a nice change. They also found a solution if he wanted some pocket money: he could always brew potions and have Harry sell them. 

Harry had talked about the insane House Elf who sometimes agreed to buy food for him but explained how unreliable he was and why he often asked for help from his friends. Kreacher liked him now, since he’d gotten to keep Regulus’ locket, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t a taciturn little shit. For his basic needs, weather permitting, Harry used Sirius’ motorcycle to go to the village, but the local Tesco was small and lacked many ingredients he liked to cook with. Malfoy’s relief when he’d told him he had a bike as well had made him grin: overprotective Draco wouldn’t let Scorpius climb on a motorcycle until his fifties. He also lacked a license, so the bike meant he had some measure of freedom in a part of the country that had no public transport whatsoever. 

Speaking of Malfoy, he was already making himself useful by washing the dishes by hand, even though Harry had said he could use magic. Harry, on the other hand, was now getting ready for something he’d rather avoid for the next two hundred years: a visit to the Ministry. He put on his shoes and wrapped a scarf around his neck, then sighed. 

“Okay. Malfoy, I’m off. Thor will need to go outside for his walk. You can just open the door; he’ll run around the fields on his own. Or you can go out with Scorpius, your choice. Don’t worry about Thor getting lost, he’s too obsessed with food to venture far.” 

“Daddy, I pway outside?” 

“Sure, sweetheart. Just wait for me.” 

“Yay!” 

Harry smirked, and he headed out to Apparate outside of the wards. Malfoy would be just fine. 

From the Apparition point behind the Ministry, he found the visitors’ entrance, cringed, and gathered his courage. When he arrived inside, he found that not much had changed since his last visit. The repaired statue was still ugly, both in its appearance and meaning, and was that a giant painting of his own face above the atrium? He was so glad he lived far away. No doubt the Daily Prophet still printed ludicrous articles, alternating between scandals with the potential to ruin his life and sickly-sweet praise. Too bad there was no truth to any of it. The last story they’d gotten right told the world about his resignation from the Aurors but glossed over the horrors he’d witnessed as a trainee. 

He’d fucked off to Scotland shortly after. 

Stepping in front of the welcome witch’s desk, he handed her the wand Ollivanders had created for him after the war and refrained from rolling his eyes at her exaggerated gasp. He couldn’t stand it. The glimmer in her eyes, the heavy breathing, the tremor in her voice. He was still revered, and he hated it. 

She was babbling about her daughter being such a good match for him when he retrieved his wand and walked past her towards the elevator. Mercifully, he was alone inside (with a dozen flying bits of parchment). He exited at the Department of Law Enforcement and hurried down the corridor, unwilling to meet his old colleagues, more specifically Smith, whom he might very well blast to pieces on sight. He walked quickly, reaching the end of the corridor and the Wizarding Children’s Protection Office that had been opened at the end of the war, replacing the previous one that only dealt with adoptions. He knocked, didn’t wait for an answer, and opened the door. 

“Who in the- Mr Potter!” The middle-aged wizard stared in amazement, his moustache twitching. Harry didn’t recognise him, nor his name, so he must be one of the new hires. After the war, the Ministry had started to hire masses of Muggleborns and Half-Bloods. Unfortunately, they were still suffering from the war and made decisions that resulted in more spilt blood and injustice in the name of revenge. What they tried to do to Malfoy was just another check mark on their list. Harry was curious to see if this man agreed with their anti-Pureblood propaganda. 

“Good morning.” He enlarged his signed copy of Scorpius’ guardianship papers and placed it on the desk. “I’m here to take care of this.” 

The older man reviewed the parchment with a frown that accentuated the wrinkles on his forehead. He kept blowing air at a long strand of greying hair that stubbornly fell into his eyes, then sighed dramatically. “I’m very sorry, Mr Potter, but this is highly irregular.” 

“Irregular, how?” 

“Well, I am the only one who can issue these papers and they’re reserved for abuse cases.” 

Harry bristled. “Draco Malfoy is not abusing his son.” 

“Of course not. This isn’t an abuse case, this is a- whoever wrote this wants to take this boy away and found a convenient excuse. This is barely legal. Malfoy has too many restrictions to get out of this and would be unable to hire a solicitor.” He read the parchment again. “You signed this.” He chuckled. “You actually signed.” 

“What else could I do?” He felt more comfortable now. Perhaps his insane luck was still working. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad Lucius Malfoy is rotting in Azkaban. But the boy? You did the right thing at his trial.” 

“You must be the only Ministry worker who agrees with me.” 

There was something haunted in the man’s eyes when he looked at Harry. “My daughter made mistakes when she was dating an arsehole. I know a bit about coercion. Now. You’re assuming exclusive guardianship of Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy until September 3, when his father’s probationary period is over. If Mr Malfoy is convicted again, if the Ministry screws him over, you’re not keeping that guardianship.” 

Harry tightened his hold on the quill. “So, they’ll just find another way in a few months. Is there anything else I can do?” 

“Adoption. It would take longer to organise, and I’d need to keep it quiet, but if you can both agree to shared custody, the kid will be protected for life.” 

Pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses, the Man-Who-Lived let out an exasperated sigh, before locking eyes with the older wizard. “Can you prepare the documents for that? Just in case.” 

“Very well. In the meantime, you are his temporary guardian. They have no say until September.” 

The parchment duplicated itself, one copy flying to the filing cabinet, the other resting in his hands. Harry’s mind was a whirlwind of anger and relief. He gave his most sincere thanks to the man and left, the red of his ex-colleagues’ robes walking down the corridor catching his eye and making him want to retch. 

There was no way he’d stop for a chat with any of them without wanting to blow up the entire department. 


	4. Chapter 4

When he was little, Draco loved walking in the gardens of the Manor, pretending to be on the way towards a magnificent adventure. Lucius blamed Tolkien, one of the rare Muggle authors he didn’t despise, because Draco spent weeks looking for the One Ring and fighting the peacocks (“They’re not birds, Father, they’re Orcs!”). 

Bringing Scorpius (and Thor) outside for a stroll was like going back in time. Scorpius had never seen so much snow or ventured outside of London. He was running everywhere, squealing, under his father’s watchful eyes, and they were completely alone. The temperature wasn’t too low. He didn’t bother with warming spells, believing that Scorpius shouldn’t be too protected, or he would get sick very quickly if he found himself without a charm one day. It was like allowing him to play in the dirt to build up his immune system. Those were concepts he was familiar with since childhood but had only recently learned why they existed. 

Wizards weren’t immune to Muggle diseases; they were just less likely to catch them since magic gave them additional protections or fought viruses faster. He’d known that he could suffer just as badly as Abel after both of them caught the flu two years ago. Learning about immunisation had been a revelation. He and Scorpius were now vaccinated against every recommended Muggle ailment. 

Pureblooded parents exposed their children to the elements too, but never looked deeply into why. It was just something they did. Draco had discovered that wizards didn’t question much in their lives, while many Muggles spent their existence trying to figure out the secrets of the universe. It used to drive him mad. 

The wizarding world was strange. He remembered when Social Services came to the hostel to check on him and Scorpius. Comparing them to the new Ministry deciding to take away his child for a seemingly random reason made him want to send flowers to the Muggle woman who had taken the time to listen to him, to talk to Abel and to the owners of the hostel, and who had deemed him stable enough to take care of his boy. 

Draco was tired of worrying. Now, perhaps he could have some peace. 

When Scorpius’ energy started to decrease, the young man picked him up, swung him around and kissed his round cheeks, filled with so much love that it was almost painful. The dog was already on the way back home, so he followed him, keeping Scorpius close. 

Entering the house was eerie. The ambient magic welcomed him, embraced him, as if Potter had enchanted the place to make it more comfortable. He put Scorpius down, removed his coat, scarf, tiny gloves and hat, then let him untie his shoes because he liked doing things himself. Once freed from his constricting clothing, the kid ran to his room. 

Draco snickered and removed his own jacket and boots. He took a few steps towards the kitchen, filled the kettle and let the water boil (after remembering that the appliances were running on magic and worked differently than the ones he was used to). He found milk in the fridge and a brand-new pack of cocoa in the cupboard, so he set out to prepare a nice mug of hot chocolate for his now tired little boy. When it was ready, he lowered the temperature, using his wand for the first time in years and feeling like a First Year when he had to try three times. 

“Sweetheart, come here, please.” 

His smile widened at the sight of his disgruntled toddler who was holding his stuffed lobster and had probably been in the process of telling it all about the fun he’d had outside. Scorpius was always so grumpy when he was tired. 

“I made you some hot chocolate. If you don’t want it, I’ll drink it.” And he would. He had a massive sweet tooth. 

“No!” 

“Sit down, then.” 

The lobster was now on the table and Scorpius climbed on a chair. Earlier today during breakfast, Potter had Transfigured it so it would be higher without forcing the child to use a baby chair, like he often had to at the hostel. Draco served himself a cup of tea and sat next to him, enjoying the moment. 

When he put Scorpius to bed for a nap, he wondered what to cook for supper. He wanted to make something for Potter. He’d fixed himself and Scorpius sandwiches for lunch and had noticed that the fridge was full, to his delight. Some roast with butternut squash? He knew many recipes but had never been able to truly enjoy cooking for someone else at the hostel. And Scorpius was a little monster when it came to vegetables, so since Draco didn’t believe in forcing him to eat something he couldn’t swallow, he made sure to cook with ingredients his son already liked. If he was feeling adventurous, he’d give him a bite of something new and see what he thought about it. 

So far, he knew that he wouldn’t touch most vegetables unless they were raw (he loved munching on crispy, fresh bell-peppers), but was fine with potatoes, carrots and pea puree. Squash would be new. He thought it would work. 

So, he got to work, wanting everything to be perfect for his first real meal with the one he owed everything to. 

***

Harry came home to a delicious smell that made his mouth water. He’d been tense after his visit at the Ministry and he’d gone to Diagon Alley, where he'd truly believed he’d strangle someone by lunchtime, so he’d fled to Luna’s for the afternoon. As usual, she didn’t need to ask what was wrong. She talked about Blibbering Humdingers, they shared homemade biscuits and listened to Tori Amos, until Harry felt ready to go home. 

He’d almost forgotten he wasn’t alone anymore. It was 6pm when he closed the door behind him and noticed that Scorpius was busy drawing. A glance to the side showed Malfoy, dishevelled but smiling, wearing Harry’s apron and looking- well, Harry’s lower regions liked what he was seeing. The flutter in his stomach was quite unexpected, but impossible to avoid, not when those grey eyes shone so brightly. He’d never seen Malfoy like this before. Teenage Harry would have been mortified. The adult, not so much. 

Draco’s expression closed off when he noticed Harry, but it wasn’t the old Pureblood mask either, just one that showed he wasn’t completely comfortable yet. 

“Ready in thirty minutes,” he said, answering Harry’s unspoken question. 

Deciding to investigate, the black-haired man joined him in the kitchen, casting glances around. He spotted apple compote in a bowl. “Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you when I’d be back.” 

“I’d have kept your plate under a stasis charm, don’t worry about it.” Malfoy checked the temperature of a wonderful-looking roast in the oven, breathed in, turned around to face Harry and wrung his fingers. “Did you-?” 

“Oh! Yes.” Harry could have slapped himself. Of course, Malfoy was anxious. He enlarged the signed contract. “All done! I need to talk to you about something later.” 

He didn’t want to discuss what he’d learned while Scorpius could hear him and intended to wait until he was asleep. Malfoy nodded, read the parchment, stared at both signatures at the bottom and at the Ministry seal, and finally relaxed again. A few seconds later, the parchment was tucked into a warded box where Harry kept his most precious documents and the men set the table together. 

Harry was genuinely curious about Malfoy’s first day here and delighted to hear that Thor had accompanied them outside. He congratulated Scorpius on his drawing when the child showed him the stick figures and the blob that represented his dog. He sat with him, answering questions about Thor. He explained that his dog was a rescue and that he was six years old. 

A few minutes later, he ate his first dinner with his new housemates, cutting Scorpius’ slice of pork and sharing a smirk with Malfoy as the child gobbled up his vegetables. He then volunteered to clean up. 

It was still early when he heard Malfoy read a bedtime story from the half-opened door of the child’s bedroom. He grabbed the Butterbeers he’d bought in Diagon Alley earlier, sat on the couch and invited his rival to sit with him once the door to Scorpius’ room was closed and the child asleep. He erected a silence bubble around the living room, offered one of the Butterbeers to Malfoy and watched him slump in the armchair facing him. 

“I’m glad he didn’t make a fuss tonight.” 

Harry’s body almost betrayed him at the sight of Malfoy’s blissful expression when he drank his first sip. He shuffled on his seat a little and blamed his isolation for his needs. It had been too long. “He’s very well-behaved. You did a fantastic job raising him.” 

Malfoy raised an elegant eyebrow. “Thank you, Potter. Just wait until you try to make him wash his hair.” 

Grinning, Harry relaxed even more. He could see that Malfoy’s eyes kept darting at the pictures on the walls and he imagined he must have many questions; he wasn’t sure if he should just talk and hope it would encourage him to speak and ask whatever he wished, but he guessed Malfoy wouldn’t share information willingly if Harry didn’t say anything first. So, he broke the ice. 

“The Ministry will try to take your son away again.” At Malfoy’s sharp glance and sudden tension oozing from his every pore, Harry berated himself. “Sorry. That’s what I needed to talk to you about.” 

He explained what happened in London and that there were adoption papers being drafted as they spoke. 

At that, Malfoy suddenly started laughing, a barking laugh Harry had never heard before, full of mirth but with a smattering of sadness and anger underneath. 

“Wait here, I need to travel back in time and tell myself that Harry fucking Potter wants to adopt my son to keep both of us safe.” He almost dropped his Butterbeer in an attempt to put it back on the table. “Fuck, that’s not a fitting drink for this conversation.” 

Scratching the back of his neck, Harry could only agree. “I don’t really drink,” he said with a shrug. “No secret stash of Firewhisky.” 

“Who said anything about Firewhisky?” Malfoy clucked his tongue. “Such an overrated beverage. You’re speaking to a bartender. I’ll make you a drink that’ll change your life.” He blinked, looking as if he’d just realised something. “Well, I’ll do so, after you show me where Tesco is. Preferably tomorrow.” 

Then, Malfoy drank more Butterbeer and muttered that it had been too long and how much he’d missed the taste. Harry was stuck on the “bartender” part of his speech and the image of Malfoy mixing cocktails reawakened his body’s interest, which he once again stomped on mercilessly. But it was an opening and he took it: 

“That’s what you were doing all these years?” 

“You might not believe it, Potter, but babies are expensive. I was given money to take him in, not nearly enough to take care of myself as well.” 

Now, that was interesting. Harry looked at him until Malfoy told him he wasn’t a mind-reader and he should speak if he wanted to keep the conversation going. They might not be enemies anymore, but it was still awkward to be together. 

“All right, can we play twenty questions?” 

A tilt of his chin, followed by an incredulous stare and eventually Malfoy relented. “I reserve the right to stop this conversation at any moment.” 

“Yeah, me too. No questions about the war, either.” Harry didn’t wish to discuss Voldemort ever again. His Mind Healer had done a fabulous job, but now he knew why people flinched after hearing his name: it made him uneasy. The colour green could bring him to his knees, lost in a memory. Harry was dealing with the mental scarring to the best of his abilities, but sometimes he lost the battle. He had learned there was nothing wrong with it. Seeing Malfoy’s sneer, he understood that the young man suffered from flashbacks as well. He noticed him rubbing his left arm. “Okay, so, I’ll start. Why bartending?” 

Surprise flickered in Malfoy’s eyes. “Abel, the man you met at the hostel, is a bouncer. He told me to apply for a waiter position and shortly after, I replaced the other bartender. The hours were convenient when Scorpius was smaller.” He crossed his legs and smirked. “What’s the story between you and the Weaselette?” 

He snorted; he had been getting ready for many questions, but this was not one of them. “You know, she thinks that name is hilarious now.” He almost laughed at his housemate’s expression. “When we were together, her entire family was grieving Fred and I avoided the Burrow because some of them could be cruel to me. Telling me that your trial was like I spat on Fred’s grave. Gin hated it. She came to live with me. They were pressuring her to marry me, because living together was just not proper without a ring on her finger. Anyway, we just fell out of love. Ended it together, decided to stay friends and keep being roommates, because why not. Her family wouldn’t listen when she told them she wasn’t with me anymore. They didn’t believe us, because why would we be living together otherwise? One day, we went on a double date, the Prophet got involved and all hell broke loose. That’s when I left London.” 

Damn, thank Merlin there was no alcohol involved tonight. Why was he such a blabbermouth? Was it the Malfoy effect? Or perhaps Harry was just too lonely. That was more likely. Neville had teased him about his tendency to talk too much when he spent long stretches of time on his own. On the other hand, it was funny to see the Prince of Slytherin so gobsmacked. 

“How did you manage to use a Ministry owl?” Harry asked next. 

“The young ones will listen to your orders if you only try it once, as they don’t belong to any specific human. Afterwards, they start to wonder who you are, so it doesn’t really work more than once with the same owl. We used to breed them at the Manor.” 

Titbits of information on Malfoy’s life were strangely thrilling. Harry liked taking his mask apart, had always enjoyed it, even at Hogwarts. Hopefully, he was no longer obsessed with him whenever he acted out of character. 

They discussed the animals kept at the Manor, the boa at the zoo, Parseltongue, the Serpensortia incident, Lockhart and his stupid books, Scorpius’ antics - and they laughed together. Harry learned that Astoria Greengrass was Scorpius’ mother, that it had been a complete accident and that Lady Greengrass had been the one to bring the boy to his father. He didn’t remember the girl, but he had a few memories of her sister, mainly because she’d been one of the most beautiful girls at Hogwarts. 

They lost track of how many questions they’d asked so far. Harry was relieved that neither Ron nor Hermione featured in any of them; he was certain that Malfoy was curious about his past but respected his boundaries. Perhaps he should start calling him Draco. 

When they finally stopped talking, it was getting late. Draco yawned, his throat making a little noise that was immediately followed by a blush spreading across his face. Harry stood up, vanished the empty bottles of Butterbeer and stretched his back. Going to sleep sounded excellent right now. 

“I’ll head to bed if that’s okay,” he said quietly. “Let’s do this again soon. And I’d like it if you called me Harry.” 

He held out his hand and Draco took it, smiling. “In that case, I give you permission to use my given name.” 

Somehow, his snobbish sentences were now endearing. And if Harry was honest with himself, he was quite sure that Draco was using them on purpose. He didn’t speak that way constantly; he had to have known it was a bit ridiculous. Was Draco capable of mocking himself? If he wasn’t in the past, living in a hostel for so long had taken care of that. 

Thor whined, breaking the silence. With a chuckle, Harry decided to take him for a short walk. Draco chose to go to bed. Wishing him good night, the black-haired man put on his shoes and coat, and got ready to walk into the cold night, alone with his thoughts and with a growing crush that, he was forced to admit, might have existed for a very long time and gone dormant. 

***

His skin was burning. His throat hurt; his eyes barely saw anything through his tears. There was no way out. He couldn’t move; his body didn’t respond. 

The Fiendfyre devoured everything. The random objects in the Room of Requirement. Crabbe. Goyle. The room changed and turned into his room at the Manor, yet the fire was still there, rushing up the walls. 

His mother was there, unconscious, on the floor. He still couldn’t move. 

He saw them all: the men and women of the Wizengamot, observing the scene with interest, smirking. Taking bets. 

The fire engulfed his mother. 

Draco watched and screamed. 

He threw the covers onto the floor, stumbled out of bed, his scream still on his lips. His stomach cramped. He didn’t reach the door, instead collapsing and letting out a gut-wrenching sob. He muffled the noise by biting into his fist. 

“Draco?” 

Startled, he bit down on his hand a little too hard and hissed in pain. Po-Harry. Of course. It’d had been so long since he’d had such a vivid nightmare that he’d forgotten his Silencing Charms. He’d needed them at the Manor, then at the Malfoy townhouse and when Scorp was a baby. Afterwards, having his child in his room soothed him and drove most of his dreams away. 

Ashamed of the whole situation, he tried to reassure his housemate. But of course, being a Gryffindor, Harry didn’t leave, though to his credit, he didn’t open the door either. 

“Do you need anything?” 

_Yes_. 

“I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep, P- Harry.” 

The silence stretched until Harry said the magic words that made Draco turn the doorknob and stare at him. “You have Dreamless Sleep?!” 

Harry’s hair was a disastrous mess and he was only wearing a pair of pyjama pants. Draco was too distracted to feel anything at the sight that his younger self would have killed to witness (his current self as well, to be perfectly fair). He still noticed the multiple scars littering his skin. There were so many of them. Harry also had Muggle tattoos - yet something he would most likely ask about later but couldn’t really bring himself to care about right now. What caught his eye most of all was the vial of potion in his right hand. 

He’d almost forgotten this existed. He thanked Harry and went back to bed, uncorked the vial shakily and drank his potion. Relieved, he soon lost consciousness. 


	5. Chapter 5

The first week of their cohabitation confused Draco more than he’d ever thought possible. Getting used to feeling safe again in a new home was easy: Scorpius loved the house so much that Draco could only approve of their surroundings. Having a dog for the first time in his life amused him, the silence of the countryside in winter reminded him of the Manor (when the peacocks weren’t squawking), and using magic again was akin to the relief one got after getting rid of a persistent cold. But living with Harry Potter was beyond strange.

The man was nothing like Draco had imagined. Granted, his impressions came from school, and despite sharing so many classes with him and insulting him at every turn, he’d never actually had any chance to get to know him. He’d always portrayed him as King of Gryffindor Tower. The real Harry was no king. He slept in pyjama pants covered in Snitches, put up silencing charms when he brewed potions (perhaps so Draco wouldn’t hear the explosions), decorated Scorpius’ food in cute ways that made him eat new vegetables without complaint, and sang in the shower. He looked infuriatingly gorgeous in a rugged sort of way, with his long hair and his short beard that did things to Draco’s lower regions and caused him to take long showers in the morning, trying to remember what his tattoo looked like and never managing to. Harry was also a couch-potato, enjoyed reading adventure novels and didn’t always sleep through the night.

When he was still at the hostel, Draco used to think about him sometimes. About everyone he knew, really, wondering where they were, what they were doing. He thought all of them went on with their lives because he was terrified at the thought that people were still hurting, that the war wasn’t truly over when they woke up in tears or brought flowers to a grave that shouldn’t exist. He’d never fully realised that he wasn’t the only one suffering, because why would they be hurting? They hadn’t done anything wrong, after all. They had no reason to be punished. But trauma didn’t work like that.

Harry showed him that they were equals. Both broken, trying to put themselves back together. So was everyone else, he guessed. He hadn’t seen anyone yet, aside from the Weaselette, who looked okay but still kept her wand in a holster at her wrist and examined a room before stepping inside, even if that room was one she’d been in so many times before. He remembered how she’d helped young students escape the Carrows, how she’d healed the cuts on a first-year who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He didn’t spend many days in Hogwarts in 1998, because the Mark often burned, calling him home —a home that the Dark Lord had infected, turned into a festering wound, into the breeding grounds of Draco’s worst fears. But to all those students who lived through that year, the school must have felt similar. Only Snape prevented it from being completely ruined. 

He wished he could write to Pansy, Blaise, Theo, Greg, his parents. Even to Astoria, to apologise, to ask if she wanted to know how Scorp was doing, if she hated him and wanted nothing to do with him, or if she just kept away to respect the terms of his probation. Perhaps Harry could tell him how they were all doing, soon?

He penned a letter to Lady Greengrass. She deserved to know about the changes in her grandson’s circumstances. He then checked on his son, smiling when he found him building a crooked tower with Legos. He sat with him and offered him his help, glancing through the window, absolutely not staring at Harry who was busy carving a path in the snow to reach the shed with Thor messing up his progress.

It was peaceful. Of course, that peace was shattered by the sound of the Floo just when Draco was getting genuinely involved in the story Scorpius was inventing with his Legos. He froze. This was supposed to be his home too, so any visitor should get used to seeing him there. That didn’t mean he wanted to meet anyone in the living room. But Harry was outside, and—

The choice was ripped away from him when a small boy with bright blue hair came running into the room, yelling “HARRY!”. Draco grabbed Scorpius and immediately let go of him, feeling quite silly at his reaction. The newcomer stared at them, then saw the Legos and his hair turned white blond.

“Where’s Harry? Can I play too?”

Draco blinked. “Who might you be, young man?” As soon as these words left his mouth, he remembered the pictures on the walls. This was his cousin and with his hair now the same colour as theirs, he looked a lot like Draco’s mother.

“I’m Teddy! Who’re you?”

“My name is Draco Malfoy and this here,” he tickled his son’s ribs until the child fled, giggling, “is Scorpius. Did you come here alone?”

“Nuh-huh. Can I play? Please?”

Scorpius handed him a small box of Legos. “We building a castle! For dwagons.”

“But dragons don’t live in castles!”

“Why?”

Snickering, Draco listened to the boys arguing quietly about the benefits of giving a home to a dragon, until they reached an understanding and started building a tower together.

The young man decided to head into the living room, no matter who might be waiting there. His upbringing was already screaming at him for being so impolite. But instead of his aunt, whom he was dreading ever meeting, he found Longbottom, busy examining the plant next to the hearth. It did look a bit peaky. Draco cleared his throat.

“Hey, Malfoy,” Longbottom greeted, completely unsurprised to see him. “I’m just dropping him off for the day.”

“P-Harry is outside,” he replied because he didn’t know what else to say. The last time he had seen Longbottom, the shy boy had become a man and was slaying Nagini with a freaking sword. A year with the Carrows had toughened him up.

“I know. Hey, that plant hates the light, by the way.”

“I’ll move it. Sorry.” That was so very, very awkward.

“I know it’s Harry’s fault. He could kill a cactus. Hopefully, your presence will help. Anyway,” he pointed at the bag at his feet. “Teddy’s change of clothes if needed. I’ll be back around 8.”

Thor barked outside, and a sudden drop in temperature gave him goosebumps. Harry was back, tapping his shoes against the doorframe to get rid of the snow stuck under his soles. Relieved, Draco looked at him, and the way Harry responded with a soft smile turned his insides to mush.

“Oh, hey, Nev!”

The Gryffindors hugged, and Longbottom explained that Andromeda knew Draco was there (how?!) and didn’t want to ruin his life by quickly visiting and forcing him to violate the terms of his probation. She was a Slytherin, after all. Draco didn’t understand. It must have shown on his face since Longbottom didn’t leave him in the dark:

“Ginny told her, hoping to protect you and prevent a shouting match. Scorpius swayed Andromeda, more than anything. I guess you’ll meet her after you pass your probation.”

“Thanks, Nev.” Harry was practically buzzing. Draco gave a small nod, hoping to convey his gratitude. He then witnessed how much Harry had missed his godson when the small Metamorphmagus was picked up from the floor in Scorp’s room and held tightly. The kid talked excitedly about his new friend and the dragons and the castle, so Draco barely heard the Floo when Longbottom left.

Still, he didn’t forget to move the plant to a dark corner of the living room.

***

It was the middle of the night after Teddy’s visit, and Harry was downstairs, drinking a glass of water and shaking. Cold sweat covered his brow and his back. This dream had been bad. Far from the worst he’d ever had, but still enough to make him fear to fall asleep again. With a sigh, he went to check on Scorpius, finding him deeply asleep with his stuffed lobster clutched against his chest. When he quietly closed the door behind him, he found Malfoy (no, Draco) standing in the kitchen and staring like a deer in headlights.

Draco’s surprise vanished quickly, his eyes asking a silent question.

“He’s sleeping like a log,” Harry said with a smile, his tremors vanishing. “You make very cute babies.”

“Thank you.”

Here it was, that blush Harry had been waiting for. He checked the wards on the bedroom door to make sure their voices wouldn’t bother the child. “Can’t sleep?”

Now holding a mug of cocoa, using his wand to swirl the liquid, Draco hid a small smirk by lowering his head. “I was rudely awakened by someone hitting what I am assuming was their toes against a wall and muttering under their breath. You have such a naughty mouth, Potter.”

That was when his brain short-circuited. “You have no idea how much.”

As soon as these words left his throat, Harry repressed the urge to run back upstairs, lock himself up in his room and never come out. When he looked back at Draco, though, he almost laughed. Draco’s eyes had widened impossibly, and he was gripping the handle of his mug so tightly that his knuckles had turned stark white. So, Harry thought he’d just own it and apologise, and turn himself into a mess in the process.

“Forget it. I didn’t mean- well, yeah, I meant that.” He scratched his hair. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable—”

“If this was supposed to be flirting, you suck at it.” Draco’s smirk grew.

Somewhere in his tired head, a little voice was screaming gleefully. “I could show you if that’s all right?” Harry’s heart was beating so fast; it was a wonder he wasn’t dizzy. This couldn’t be happening.

Putting the mug next to the sink, Draco crossed his arms and rested against the fridge, chin titled in a pose that should not have been so attractive when he was wearing a pyjama. His eyes roamed from Harry’s feet to his torso, stopping to take in the tattooed thorns and the black snake slithering up his ribs and down his hip. It was Harry’s most recent tattoo, having gone through the pain of getting stabbed with needles the Muggle way twice before (he had a small dragon on his right ankle and Hedwig on his left shoulder blade). He was planning to cover up the scar left by the locket on his chest.

Locking his gaze with Harry’s, Draco stepped closer, and Harry’s breath hitched when he traced the lines of the snake with the tip of his index finger, dipping under the waistband of his pyjamas. “How far does it go?”

Harry’s unusual confidence was electrifying. Draco was so close. He smelled like almond body wash and fresh linen, and he was so, so beautiful. “It’s wrapped around my thigh,” Harry murmured. His voice was rough. He wanted to drop down on his knees and worship Draco’s cock right here in the middle of his- their- kitchen, and from what he could see from the bulge between his legs, the other man wasn’t unaffected.

Draco’s breath caressed his lips. “What if it fucks everything up?”

“We don’t need to mention it again.” They didn’t. Really. Harry’s hands gripped Draco’s hips, and suddenly their lips met for a bruising kiss. Harry gasped, welcoming the wet heat of Draco’s tongue in his mouth, pushing him against the counter, pressing their erection together. Draco shivered and ground his hips into Harry’s, who let out a groan and let go of his doubts and sleepiness. Draco tasted like the cheap chocolate brand he had been drinking. When his hand found Harry’s cock, Harry broke the kiss and moaned, his fingers intent on discovering what Draco was like under his pyjama.

His left hand gripped the man’s neck, the other slowly stroked his prick, and he sucked on his lower lip.

Draco licked into his mouth, then followed the curve of his jaw and bit the skin just below his ear.

“Oh, fuck.”

“What do you want, Harry?” His breath was hot against his neck.

“Just-” Draco twisted his wrist and pressed his thumb into the slit. “Oh my God, do that again!”

He didn’t care if he sounded desperate. He needed this so badly. His hand had stilled, and he could barely move. His trousers dropped to the floor, and Draco pushed him away, just enough to stare at his tattoo. “Beautiful.”

He should do something. That would be nice. And he did want to suck him off, so he acted on it, because screw it, why not. Once on the floor, he looked up at the other man and found him so breathtaking that he could barely believe this was happening. His cock was long, heavy, slightly curved to the side and would doubtlessly feel fantastic inside him. He gave it a taste, flattening his tongue against the head, delighting in the sounds he knew he was responsible for, then took it in, slowly, getting used to having his mouth filled after so long with only his hand for company. Draco gasped. He pulled on Harry’s hair, his hips trembling, and Harry loved it.

His tongue caressed the vein he found on the underside of his cock. When the tip hit the back of his throat, he swallowed, and the movement made Draco swear and buck his hips forward.

“P-Harry, I’m not- I can’t-” His grip on his hair tightened until it was almost painful.

He relaxed his jaw, took Draco’s cock out of his mouth, and swirled his tongue around it, playing with his foreskin, before standing up and aligning his prick with Draco’s. Draco’s hand joined his. They kissed as if they couldn’t live without each other, drinking the other’s moans, until Draco came, and Harry followed soon after.

Harry’s first reflex was to glance towards Scorpius’ room as he attempted to catch his breath. “Maybe we should be more careful next time.”

Draco smirked. “I blame your tattoos. What would the wizarding world think of their Saviour swinging both ways? Not that I’m complaining.”

Harry’s heart was still hammering wildly in his chest. For the first time in years, the Boy-Who-Lived was content, and it was all because of Draco sodding Malfoy. He stifled a yawn. “They know. Part of the reason I’m living here.” He vanished the mess on the floor and put his clothes back on after Draco’s cleaning spell washed over them both. “I had no idea you were bi.”

“Gay. Scorpius is a product of too much alcohol and Slytherin partying one last time because we thought we’d all end up in Azkaban for life. It was a fucked-up evening.”

“So, the rumour that orgies were going on in the dungeons is true?”

Draco chuckled. “Strange, I’ve heard the same thing about Gryffindor. We were all a bunch of kids raised to believe that we should stay pure until marriage. What happened in Hogwarts was not that interesting.” He rubbed his eyes. “How about we keep the twenty questions for tomorrow?”

Bed. Yes. That was good. Harry agreed with that plan.

He’d most likely sleep like the dead until morning, and he was looking forward to it.

***

“Should we talk about last night?”

Harry almost spat out his tea all over the pages of his book. “I thought we said we wouldn’t mention it again.”

“If you don’t want to, I’ll respect that. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

He looked at the (gorgeous) man relaxing in his favourite armchair, blond hair still wet. He didn’t regret sucking him off, but he had to admit it didn’t make him any less horny. He was confused about his feelings because it was Malfoy, whose company he enjoyed tremendously for some reason. “Okay,” he sighed. “I only have one question: did you let me do it because you feel like you owe me?” It had been bothering him since he woke up.

Draco smiled, his eyes darting quickly towards his son who was speaking to Thor about his “dwagons”. “While I do owe you a debt I can never repay, the thought didn’t even cross my mind. Stop worrying.”

“Good.” Harry wasn’t sure if it was normal, but when he looked at his cosy living room, his new friend, the flames in the fireplace, the cups of tea on the table, the child, and his Golden Retriever who was having the time of his life, he thought it was like having a family.


	6. Chapter 6

Deciding between two brands of shampoo should not be taking that long. Draco resolved to ask Harry if he could use the potions lab to create his own because he missed those he used to have. In the meantime, mindful of his finances that would no longer be helped by bartending, he hesitated and ended up grabbing a two-for-one pack with a tolerable scent. Then, he picked one for Scorpius, choosing carefully to make sure it wouldn’t hurt if it got into his eyes.

Turning around to see the rest of the aisle, he bumped into a middle-aged couple, apologised, and started contemplating the various condoms in front of him. Had last night been a one-time thing? If it happened again, would it go any further? He flushed at the memory. He’d only ever had two blowjobs before Harry’s incredible performance; a Ravenclaw had cemented his absolute certainty on his sexual orientation when he was fifteen, in the shower after a Quidditch match, and a Muggle had helped him let go of some stress during a break at the bar, a year ago. He was quite sure that other people had tasted his cock during the Night of Very Big Mistakes circa 1998, but he didn’t remember it. And he wanted to have sex with Harry, badly, not just because he’d had a crush on him for ages, but also because he wanted to do it properly this time. Not while drunk, not with more than one person, especially not a mix of boys and girls he’d known since they were toddlers. Draco considered himself a virgin, and the task of choosing a condom embarrassed him. It made him wonder what it would be like to top. Would Harry let him? He didn’t mind bottoming, either. Both sounded pretty bloody good to him. And if he didn’t stop thinking about it right now, he would end up with an erection in the middle of the local Tesco and would never shop there again.

He took one box of condoms almost blindly, then sought out Harry, who had the cart and Scorpius. He found them at the butcher’s counter. Draco slipped the box under the net of oranges. At the sight of Harry’s intense gaze, he knew he’d been found out, and simply smirked. It made him look confident, despite the cowardice of hiding his purchase, and allowed him to freak out in silence.

“Daddy!”

His smirk turned into a soft smile. He kissed his little boy’s hair. “Did you help Harry, love?”

“Yes! I pick the tomatoes and cuber!”

“Cucumber.”

“Cumber?”

“Close enough.”

They headed towards the cereals and biscuits aisle together, Harry pushing the cart and stealing glances that Draco pretended he wasn’t noticing. He felt like a teenager. His emotions were all over the place, and while lust dominated the others, his underlying happiness almost scared him. Once again, his mind turned to his sixteen-year-old self, the terrified boy dangling from the Dark Lord’s puppeteer strings.

Dear Draco, in a few years, you’ll be shopping at a Muggle supermarket with Harry Potter, bickering over his plebeian taste in wine. You’ll be cooking together and building an army of snowmen in the garden. He’ll spoil your son and provide for you. Oh, and he’ll suck your cock in the kitchen, so stop moping, things will get better. Best wishes, Draco.

He almost snorted and started wondering where this would go. They didn’t have an old friendship that could shatter from their little experiments, and if things went pear-shaped, Draco would be able to leave in September, so it couldn’t be that much of a mistake. Would it lead to something more than sex? Could it, with their history? He glanced at Harry, noted the crease between his eyebrows as he read the ingredients behind a box of Frosties, and agreed with his assessment that Scorpius should not be fed something so sugary for breakfast. He quelled an urge to wrap his arms around the other man’s waist. Harry probably didn’t know how much his care for Scorpius’ needs meant to him.

When the child started whining about candy, they hurried to complete their shopping and pay. The couple Draco had bumped into mumbled something about disgusting role models when Harry’s hand strayed on the small of Draco’s back. He saw the muscles of Harry’s jaw contract and fully expected him to snarl and look for a fight like the Gryffindor he was—and when he didn’t do anything, Draco was floored.

What had happened to him? Would it be alright to talk about it? Questions filled his mind, briefly interrupted by the pull of side-along Apparition.

Once home, Scorpius scampered to play with Thor and Draco helped Harry with their groceries. It was ridiculously domestic.

Draco didn’t mind one bit.

***

Scorpius had shrieked like a tiny banshee the whole afternoon because the pouring rain melted the snow and “killed the snowmen”. Then, in a fit of fury, he had destroyed his Lego castle, cried because it wasn’t a castle anymore, then exploded in a noisy tantrum because Teddy wasn’t here to help him rebuild it.

Harry put three teaspoons of sugar in a cup of Earl Grey, stirred, and brought it with him to the living room, smothering a laugh at the sight of Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin, sprawled on the sofa, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. Scorpius was napping. Harry asked himself how many tantrums Andromeda had to weather from Teddy and if they were all as bad as this one.

“Hey,” he called out, getting a groan in response. “I made tea.”

Draco sat up, sucking air between his teeth. “Oh, yes, tea’s good. Thank you.” He drank a sip while Harry took a seat. “Merlin, you always know just how I like it, it’s creepy.”

They’d both spent so much time staring at each other in the Great Hall that they’d picked up on the most random things, and even now, years later, they remembered the oddest details. Harry wasn’t surprised anymore by the presence of caramelised carrots just for him when Draco cooked. They knew each other’s eating habits to an impressive extent. Harry prepared Draco’s tea just right and was now adding cumin to many dishes, a spice he’d never even bought before.

Two weeks had passed already. The past five days went through quickly, with both adults dedicating themselves to Scorpius and spending quiet evenings together. They were learning to know each other and Harry enjoyed every minute of it: who knew Draco could be funny? His humour brought him to tears more than once.

“Is he okay?” he asked softly. Scorpius’ cries had tugged at his heartstrings.

“He’ll forget all about it when he wakes up.” Draco yawned. “Are you keeping fresh herbs downstairs? I’d like to start teaching him about magical plants.”

Harry couldn’t stop smirking. “Planning on turning him into a little Potions Master?”

“Of course.”

“I can ask Neville for help. He’ll take over Sprout’s class after she retires in two years, but in the meantime, he’s focusing on his Mastery. He owns several greenhouses. I bet he’d love teaching him.”

Draco’s eyes lit up. “Really? That would be perfect. I haven’t touched magical topics. I’m just not sure I could do it properly.”

Harry could understand that. Draco may have been the second-best student in their year, but he’d been away for a long time. He made a mental note to speak to Neville. “I’d trust you to introduce him to Potions. If you’re worried, stick to Muggle subjects. Do you want to homeschool him when the time comes?”

“I guess it depends on my situation when he’s old enough. Magical primary school is out of the question, and a Muggle one might set him back if he can already read a book by himself. I know he’ll be able to, soon. He learns quickly and loves it.”

A valid concern, in Harry’s opinion. Teddy was already insisting on being taught how to read, and he wasn’t even four yet. Both children were smart and inquisitive, though Teddy had an edge that manifested when he asked how things worked instead of playing with them. He was kept informed of his various interests and questions by Andromeda’s weekly letter (the last one contained her resigned acceptance of the Malfoys’ presence and a report of Teddy’s pure joy at having a friend. The little boy had spent the next few days sporting white-blond hair). If Scorpius was homeschooled, they could probably arrange something to keep them together.

“Whatever you decide, if you need me, I’ll support you,” he said, and Draco’s eyes drilled into his. The intensity of his gaze was almost unsettling.

Draco licked his lips. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

The silence stretched between them, then Draco stood up, cupped Harry’s jaw, and gave him a sweet, gentle kiss. It was a stark contrast with the passion they’d exchanged a week ago. Harry positively melted. His eyes fluttered shut, and it was over too soon, with a slow, barely-there lick across his lower lip.

When he opened his eyes, there was no mistaking the affection in Draco’s grey irises. Harry’s heart was racing. He wanted to say something, to pull him closer, but Draco was already gone, browsing the shelves, looking for a book. It made him want to pull his hair out. What now? Did Draco wish to be chased? Should he try?

Harry had never been good at the whole romance thing. Sex was fine, and feelings were messy.

Gin would know what to do.

“Er, I’ll be right back, I need to— do stuff. I’ll go ask Neville about Scorp.”

Gods, he was an idiot. Draco just nodded, and the last thing Harry saw before jumping into the green fire of the Floo network was a wide grin that made his eyes sparkle.

He stumbled into Ginny’s living room, hitting his shin against a trunk that was certainly not supposed to be left there, and after the stream of vulgarity dried up from his lips, he called out to her.

“Gin! O mighty one, master of all things, I need help! He’s so bloody hot; it’s driving me insane!”

Only then did he start paying attention to his surroundings, and found out Ginny wasn’t alone. He stood there, gaping like a fish, while George roared with laughter and Ron stared at him like he was insane. Harry almost turned around to go straight home.

Gin didn’t have the difficulties that Harry encountered with her brothers. Molly was still angry at her for her multiple relationships and was willfully blind to the reality that her baby girl had been sexually active since her Hogwarts days. She’d never forgiven Harry for breaking her heart—even if he never did it. Arthur supported his daughter, which gave Harry hope that one day, he might be able to meet with his surrogate father again without an ugly tension between them. But the Weasley boys were a different can of worms.

Charlie had distanced himself after Fred’s death and according to Ginny, hadn’t been back in England since. Bill was busy with his own family and job, as expected, and Percy and George had crumbled entirely at the end of the war and had shown no sign of improvement for a very long time. They, and Molly, had been the ones who drove Harry away with cruel words. George’s laugh today startled him. Ginny was right: he was getting better. As for Ron… Merlin, Harry regretted Flooing here.

The sight of him still hurt. Their parting had nothing to do with Fred or Ginny. After the war, they’d been thick as thieves. Ron had been there for him when Harry broke down; he’d supported him through the trials, the interviews, the funerals. Harry had watched over him after Ron dreamt about the locket and the forest and the snatchers. They’d both been to Mind Healing sessions together, before feeling brave enough to go on their own.

But ultimately, after the disastrous fallout of Harry’s friendship with Hermione, Ron had chosen his girlfriend. Harry imagined it made sense. He was also very much aware that Ron’s choice had brought him on a difficult path—but in the end, he’d sided with the woman who’d turned against Harry.

He wasn’t angry at his old friend anymore; he just refused to get close to him again. He caught a glimpse of the ring on his index finger and quickly turned to Ginny, who looked apologetic but amused at the same time.

“I— Sorry for barging in—”

“Oh no, you don’t, wayward brother of mine!” George exclaimed, so much like his old self that Harry was at least glad to witness his recovery. “That was some entrance.”

Ron waved. “Hey, mate.”

Steeling himself, he resigned himself to his fate. “Long time no see. Gin, I’m really sorry.”

She studied him quietly, then gestured to the sofa. “If you want to discuss it now, you’re welcome to.”

“Don’t tell me it’s about your new roommate!” Ron groaned.

“How do you know?” Harry blinked in surprise. “No, wait, don’t tell me. Daily Prophet?”

“No. The story didn’t make it out of the Ministry yet—it would raise too many questions, and they don’t want people to feel sympathetic, you know? But we’re investigating, so word is getting around. Please tell me that wasn’t about him!”

George’s confusion was entertaining. Harry crossed his arms on his chest and looked at him, then at Ron. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Eugh, you and Malfoy?”

“Wait. What?” George’s eyes grew comically wide.

“Maybe? I mean, that’s why I need Gin’s advice.”

“This is the greatest prank in the history of pranks! Sit and tell us everything.”

And so, reluctantly, Harry confided in his best friend and her brothers, wondering if Ron would tell Hermione. He hoped not; he had no wish to hear from her ever again.

By sunset, he almost felt like Ron was still his friend, like George was perfectly fine—yet he couldn’t wait to go back home. He’d sent Ginny’s owl to Neville, asking about introducing Scorpius to magical plants, they’d talked about safe topics—Quidditch, food and politics, and how weird was it that the later was considered safe—and Harry knew that what happened to Malfoy was only the tip of the iceberg, forcing Ron’s investigation to be kept secret from the majority of the Ministry. Only Minister Shacklebolt, Head Auror Robards, Ron and his partner Terry Boot were aware of it. As a former Auror trainee, it worried Harry. It meant something was deeply wrong within the Ministry and that the Minister himself had very little power to stop it.

It also terrified him to think about the past and future targets of whoever thought that separating children from their parents was a good idea. Ron had told him that Scorpius wasn’t the first. Of course, he wasn’t. The first had been little Jasmine Parkinson, Pansy’s niece, and Ron knew better than to mention her in front of him.

She was two years old when Harry and his partner, Susan Bones, who were on patrol-duty in Knockturn Alley, had found her. He would never forget how small she looked when she died in Susan’s arms and how her family got out of jail after a week. They still had their shop in Diagon Alley; their customers kept on coming, no one blamed them for abusing the child of a Slytherin family and leaving her to die.

To Harry, it seemed like the Ministry was using the Sorting Hat’s decision to figure out who they should get rid of in the future.

As much as it pained him to say it, between this government and Voldemort, he might choose the Dark Lord.

Ron, George and Ginny were useful for more than one thing today: they told him to stop stalling, to check if Draco (still called the ferret, however) would agree to date him, and to stop panicking. They also indirectly made him decide to reach out to Draco’s friends, even if they couldn’t speak to Draco themselves.

He went home with a new sense of purpose and dropped a kiss on Draco’s lips as soon as he saw him, delighting in the awed (and quickly concealed) expression on his face.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Dragon's Roar is done, so I can focus on this story. Though I'm going on vacation next week so you'll be waiting again after this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

Draco was confused. So much so that by two in the morning, he was still awake, staring at the window above his bed and the raindrops running down the glass. True, he’d been the one initiating the first kiss that could be deemed inappropriately sweet, but Harry had reciprocated a few hours later and made some crazy hope flare in him. Draco was so far gone already.

He tossed and turned, feeling too hot, then too cold, finding itchy spots all over his body then imagining scenarios that would have prevented him from sleeping even without the other thoughts swirling in his brain.

He couldn’t stand it. He needed to move. He pushed the quilt away, stood up and left his small room, stopping in front of the other door. It was so stupid. Why was he doing this? Why did he think this was a good idea?

His life was a succession of questionable choices, so this would just be one more mistake to add to the list. He broke the main rule of house-sharing, and lightly knocked on the door before opening it.

The room was just as messy as it had been when Draco moved in, but the mess had been pushed into a corner. The bed was massive, as big as Draco’s at Malfoy Manor, and Harry had assumed the position of a starfish right in the middle of it. He might have taken Dreamless Sleep.

Approaching the bed, Draco realised he was wrong. Harry wasn’t sleeping; he was squinting at him. His hair was a complete but endearing disaster.

“Hey,” Draco whispered.

Harry sat up slowly. “Can’t sleep?” His sleepy voice shouldn’t be so sexy.

“Seems so.”

Green eyes searched his face, then Harry moved away from him and patted the mattress. Draco joined him, his inner voice screaming excitedly. Harry had so many pillows that they didn’t have to share, but the one Draco chose smelt a lot like him, so he was satisfied. They stared at each other, laying on their side. It was perfect. It was everything Draco had ever dreamt of.

One thought bothered him, and he prayed to Merlin that speaking about it wouldn’t ruin their friendship/relationship—whatever this was. But if there was one thing he’d learned after so many years observing him, it was that Harry valued honesty, so Draco smothered his inner Slytherin and took a risk. “You looked sad tonight. Did something happen?”

Playing with the hem of his sleeves, Harry sighed. “It’s a bit depressing.”

“I’m great at depressing.”

He laughed, making Draco feel warm and fuzzy. “Do you really want to dive headfirst into my drama?”

A nod (of course Draco wanted to! He was born for drama), Harry looked like he was making a difficult decision, but ultimately spoke, revealing what Draco had wanted to know since he noticed that the Golden Trio didn’t appear in the pictures Harry had hung around his home.

“It happened after your trial, and just before Gin and I moved in together. I was counting on Ron and Hermione to support me. Maybe I should have noticed that something wasn’t right with her; Ron was okay. He was a good friend, as much as possible when he was grieving. At first, she was too quiet when I invited them over. Then, one day, I mentioned how amazing my Mind Healer was, and she just blew up.

“See, she believed that Mind Healers don’t understand psychology properly—because they don’t have a Muggle degree. She said she’d read all about mental health and would deal with it all on her own. We fought about that, at first. I thought she was prejudiced, and she used to respect adults so much— Then, she got worse and irrational when Gin and I broke up. She said I’d been so damaged by the crook who pretended to be healing me, that I was throwing my life away and being childish, and that only Gin could ever make me happy. Now, I think she was just terrified of change.

“Imagine how well we took it. Ron was stuck between us. I avoided her as much as possible, until Christmas when Ron decided to invite me to dinner. Hermione saw your face on the front page of the Prophet because you’d just been released from Azkaban and she flipped out. We tried to calm her down. She insisted she was perfectly fine, and how dare I tell her what to do.”

Draco shuffled closer because the strain in Harry’s voice was heartbreaking.

“Ron and I… We tried. He married her very young and tried to support her, but he was busy with Auror training, and she never forgave him for not taking his NEWTs. At some point, she just fucked off to Australia to find her parents. He found out when she sent a postcard after he had the entire Auror department in an uproar trying to find her. They’re still married, but she’s still over there, and she expects him to join her. Ron is— our friendship isn’t the same. He’s pulled between us because she never forgave me for speaking out for you or Slytherin House as a whole. Ron wasn’t happy about the trial at first. To be fair, I think he hated me for a few days. But he grew out of it. We’re not best friends anymore, but if I wasn’t so set on avoiding people, I’d probably still hang out with him. Hermione, however, supported the people who started stealing kids from their families so that they wouldn’t grow up with Death Eaters. By Death Eaters, she meant Slytherin. I wish I could have helped her. If her parents ever get their memories back, they’ll be her only chance.”

Draco bit his lower lip. Granger had always been logical. The picture Harry painted now reflected a woman who had been so severely traumatised that she didn’t think rationally anymore. He imagined that without help, she would never heal properly. Draco might not have liked her, but he understood how her attitude could have devastated Harry and broken their friendship. War affected everyone differently, and he was lucky to be left with nightmares. This talk made him appreciate people’s resilience.

Draco didn’t know what to say, and he was still confused about everything, but he didn’t feel the need to talk. They shuffled closer to each other.

Neither of them slept that night.

***

It started with small touches, with the hammering of his heart when Draco smiled. Without a second thought, Harry would briefly hold him if they stood close to each other. He joined him and Scorpius for walks, left his bedroom door open at night and sometimes woke up spooning his housemate. Draco’s laugh grew warmer, his stance relaxed.

It was mid-March when Harry kissed him again. Coming back from Tesco, he dropped the bags in the kitchen and pressed his lips to Draco’s, earning a surprised little gasp in return.

Eager to hide his embarrassment, he looked around, only to find the house oddly neat and quiet. “Is Scorp sleeping?” he asked.

“He’s at Longbottom Manor.”

Draco was wearing a low cut shirt that showed his flushed collarbones and made Harry want to drop to his knees once more. Not that he needed any incentive to remember the weight of Draco’s beautiful cock on his tongue and to wish he could do it again. And the child wasn’t there? It seemed Neville had taken Thor with him as well. Forcing himself to look away from Draco’s chest, he bit his lower lip.

Light grey eyes followed his every move. “Long— Neville had some time to show him around his greenhouses. He’s bringing him back around four.”

There was no way Harry misunderstood the situation, not when Draco leaned back against the counter, licked his lips and tilted his head, smirking. He might have been oblivious in many ways, especially at Hogwarts, but he’d learned to read cues when sex was involved if only to make certain he had his partner’s full and enthusiastic consent.

Harry dragged the plastic bags towards the magically operated fridge, opened it and put away his purchases, making a mess and nearly dropping the milk when he felt a hand on his arse. Jerkily, he emptied the bags.

“I never thanked you for letting me annoy you when I can’t sleep.” Draco’s other hand slithered down the front of Harry’s jeans. “For letting me sleep in your bed when we talk too much, and I don’t want to go back to my room.” His body pressed against Harry’s back. Draco was already hard. “For making sure I feel at home. For everything.”

Harry bit back a whimper when his hardening cock was pulled out of his trousers. He closed the fridge and turned around, grabbing Draco’s head in both hands and kissing him fiercely. Draco tugged at his cock and slipped his tongue into his mouth. They kissed until Harry was dizzy—hot, filthy, messy. They breathed together, biting, licking, moaning, and the way Draco’s tongue caressed Harry’s made his toes curl.

“Do you want this?” Draco asked, and Harry wondered when he had lost control and let himself be swept off his feet.

There was barely any trace of the bold young man who’d offered Draco a blowjob in the kitchen a few weeks ago. He wanted to get some of his control back. A few quick moves later and he was holding Draco’s cock between his fingers and hissing against his mouth. “I want everything you’re willing to give me.”

Draco’s pupils almost eclipsed the grey of his irises. He ran his thumb up and down Harry’s straining prick, making him shudder, and whispered, “What if what I want is all of you?”

“Then I’m asking you to fuck me.”

Another bruising kiss and Draco’s hands let go of him. “Here?” Draco’s voice was almost a growl, and it turned Harry to mush. The only indication that Draco wasn’t wholly sure of himself despite the appearances came from his slightly trembling hands. It would have been easy to miss.

“Have you done this before? Without alcohol?”

At these words, Draco’s composure slipped briefly. Harry frowned, ignored the throbbing between his legs and hid his astonishment.

Draco’s lips twisted. “You’re not interested anymore; I should have known—”

It was almost like having the old Malfoy back in front of him, sneer and all. “Draco! Do I look like I don’t want you?”

Again, uncertainty flickered in his eyes. “You don’t mind?” Draco asked.

“Merlin, if you want me as your first, I’d be insane to refuse! As long as you’re sure—”

He found himself kissed deeply before he could end his sentence. A few seconds later, his shirt was on the floor.

“You don’t care?”

“If you ask again, I’ll make you beg. But,” Harry added, leading him towards the staircase and attempting not to trip on anything, “a first time shouldn’t be against the kitchen counter.”

“No need for candles and rose petals, Potter.”

“Good, because I don’t have any. Come on.”

Getting to Harry’s bedroom took much longer than usual, only because Draco enjoyed nipping at his neck, perhaps to disguise how nervous he was. But nothing in his body language showed any will to stop.

By the time they fell on top of each other in Harry’s bed, Harry was naked from the waist down, and Draco only wore a pair of tight black boxers, his cock peeking from under the waistband. Pulling him down, Harry spread his legs and swallowed his gasp in another searing kiss. With a groan, Draco broke the kiss and sucked on his neck.

“Wait—” Harry said. Draco sat up, one eyebrow raised. “Bugger.” Harry unlatched his wand-holster from his wrist and silently summoned condoms. The box Draco had purchased came flying from his room and hit his forehead. Harry couldn’t help it: he burst out laughing. Draco looked so offended! Not enough to kill the mood, thankfully.

Rolling his eyes, his lips twitching, Draco opened the box, picked up a condom and tossed the rest in the open drawer where Harry kept the lube.

Draco’s hands were no longer trembling so much when his mouth found Harry’s nipple. If his goal had been to make him stop laughing, it worked; Harry moaned and opened his legs wider, hips meeting Draco’s, pressing their cocks together. He managed to pull the other man’s boxers down and bit down another laugh when Draco almost fell off the bed. This time, Draco laughed too.

Harry switched their positions, still smiling, and finally took that gorgeous cock in his mouth. Draco’s reactions were just as delightful as they had been the first time. Head framed by pale thighs, Harry took him deep, hollowing his cheeks, sucking, inhaling his scent, his nose buried in coarse blond hairs. He listened to his moans, played with his balls and made sure to stop before he came. Draco let out a noise of frustration. Before he could flip him over, Harry straddled him, bent down and kissed him. He loved knowing that Draco could taste himself on his tongue.

Focusing on the strength of Draco’s hands on his hips, he opened himself up, two lubed up fingers stretching his hole, until Draco realised what he was doing and swore under his breath.

“Fuck, Harry, you’re so bloody gorgeous.”

Harry sat on his hips, feeling Draco’s long cock resting against his arse, and continued fucking himself on his fingers. He admired the view with a grin, wondering why they’d never done this before, why he’d never tried to pin the man against a wall at Hogwarts. Draco was breathtaking. His chest was flushed red, his lips bruised by endless kisses. His hair was a mess; his eyes glittered in pure want. He had gained some weight lately and looked healthier. The scars on his torso gave him a more rugged look, marring his porcelain skin and making Harry feel both guilty and horny. He did have a thing for imperfections. In the heat of the moment, it was easy to put aside the reason why Draco had almost bled to death from them. Still, Harry bent down and kissed them, lapped at a pink, erect nipple, and moved aside to let Draco put the condom on.

He then resumed his position and took hold of Draco’s cock. He raised his hips and lined himself up. He sought Draco’s approval again and slowly sank.

It had been long enough to hurt slightly, just a dull pain that would soon vanish. “Oh, shit! Draco, that’s so good,” he gasped, enjoying the way his curved cock hit his prostate almost immediately.

Draco was staring, watching himself disappear in his arse and Merlin that was hot. Harry bottomed out.

A hand wrapped around Harry’s cock, Draco pushed himself up with the other so Harry would be sitting in his lap. The position was more intimate. A bead of sweat ran down Harry’s back. He kissed him, open-mouthed, and began to move.

“I won’t last,” Draco warned against his lips, thrusting upwards and fisting Harry’s cock. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

Harry clenched his arse, provoking a groan, and moved up and down, faster and faster, the muscles of his thighs burning. Draco’s hips met his arse over and over, getting more frantic.

His hand pulled and squeezed his cock in the best ways, and fuck yes, that angle was perfect—“Draco—yes yes yes—” Harry’s toes tingled, heat pooled in his groin and he came with a hoarse cry, biting Draco’s shoulder. With a shout, Draco followed and buried his face in Harry’s neck.

***

“Why did you buy condoms?” Harry wondered aloud when their breathing was back to normal, and they lay next to each other in his messy bed.

Draco sighed dramatically, pressing the back of his hand on his forehead. “Daft. Harry bloody Potter is daft. Because I’ve been hoping to fuck you for weeks!”

“I didn’t know; I thought you’d go out and meet people.”

“How can you be so good at sex and so bad at taking hints.”

“You think I’m good at sex?”

“No one to compare you to, is there?”

Harry laughed, grabbed a pillow and hit him. Draco took it from him and pinned him to the mattress, his lower body wrapped in the sheets. A dishevelled Draco turned him on, but it was too soon to get more than a twitch from his spent cock. Also, that smile killed him.

“Can we do that again?” he asked, hoping to keep this man in his bed for as long as he could.

“Why, are you asking me out, Mr Potter?”

His heart was beating too fast, and his mouth was dry. “Maybe?”

“I come with an extra limb called Scorpius.”

Overcome with an odd tenderness, Harry kissed him slowly. “I love your extra limb very much, Draco.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I was on holidays and after that, work got busy, so I spent my free time reading and relaxing. It's still busy now, so I can't guarantee weekly updates.

Talks of discretion and what to do to make sure Scorpius didn’t know seemed silly now. Their previous arrangement, discussed that night after Draco came inside Harry’s mouth, didn’t apply anymore.

Most of the time, their habits didn’t change much. Affectionate gestures became more frequent, hands strayed from time to time, and Draco’s bed in the small room across from Harry’s was now much colder and dustier. When Scorpius was away with Longbottom to learn all about plants, however, they had sex.

Draco’s first time bottoming had made him see stars, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He loved how Harry could reduce him to a quivering mess and discovered that he was able to come untouched. When Harry fucked him, Draco liked it from behind and a little rough, just this side of painful. His favourite experience so far had been in the shed, when Harry rimmed him until he begged for his cock. They’d been almost fully dressed; it had sparked Draco’s interest in partially clothed sex because there was nothing hotter in his mind than Harry’s treasure trail disappearing in the shadows of his unbuttoned trousers.

Topping or bottoming was equally enjoyable. Draco adored laying on his back as Harry made him beg just as much as he liked taking charge and fucking him into the mattress. They couldn’t have sex often enough, not with the ultimate cockblocker who could either be Thor or a three-year-old child, so they made the best of their limited time. Getting caught by Ginny one morning after Scorpius left with Neville had been a blessing in disguise, despite the highly embarrassing situation. She must have talked to Lovegood, because suddenly Scorpius was invited by three of Harry’s friends once a week to learn about Quidditch, Magical creatures and more plants, to his absolute delight. This child was a future Ravenclaw, for sure. Draco didn’t even mind that he came back from his first hour with Luna talking about “wasput”, whatever this was.

Then there were those quiet moments after dinner; Harry’s soft voice telling stories to Scorpius made Draco fall in love even harder. He loved snuggling in front of the fire with his sleepy son in his arms and Harry’s warm, reassuring presence by his side.

For the past few days, his inner voice had been squealing about being Harry Potter’s boyfriend. It didn’t change the fact that they argued about washing dishes with magic versus by hand, or about Draco spending too long in the bathroom. Merlin, he had missed taking care of himself. A single father didn’t have much time to relax. Harry leaving water all over the floor after taking a walk in the rain was also a source of annoyance. These were regular fights between housemates—and they made sure to talk about everything before going to bed which, okay, was more of a lovers’ thing to do. Harry had said that if he had learned anything from dating the Weaselette, it was that going to sleep angry could ruin a relationship.

Draco was happy, and Scorpius thrived. Now that spring had come, Longbottom’s “lessons” could be applied at home: weather permitting, Harry and Draco took the child outside and let him plant flowers, herbs and vegetables while Thor napped in the grass. Scorpius even had a personal space just for him where he planted every seed he was given and watched over them proudly.

To add to Draco’s comfort, a letter from Lady Greengrass asking for pictures of the child and congratulating him for making the right choice warmed his heart. Perhaps Scorpius would eventually meet his mother’s family. No child should be separated from his mum for too long.

Easter came, and with it, Harry’s friends invaded the quiet cottage. It was sunny and unusually warm when Draco hid painted eggs in the garden, following a tradition he knew very little about. Teddy and Scorpius found them all in record time and became fascinated with Lovegood’s stories, allowing him to look away for a moment.

Longbottom and Weaselette stood next to the unfolded picnic table Harry had taken out of storage, arranging various dishes and drinks and sniggering. The children sat with Lovegood, listening to what had to be the weirdest tale Draco had ever heard, and they were both clutching their eggs basket because Harry had told them the eggs would run away and hide again if they didn’t keep them close. It would prevent them from forgetting them in hidden places.

Draco didn’t expect Ron Weasley to be there or to be civil. But the joy behind Harry’s wariness when his so-called best friend had Apparated at the edge of the wards was worth being uneasy for a bit. If only the redhead had decided to stay away from him, but no, he was walking in his direction, fists deep in the pockets of his jeans. He was a far cry from the gangly teenager Draco remembered; he was quite attractive now and wasn’t that a stupid thought. It must have been Luna’s influence. Her strangeness was infectious.

“Ferret.”

He almost sneered. A reflex he managed to restrain because Ron’s tone hadn’t been mocking. “Weasel,” he replied calmly.

“I need to talk to you.”

_ I don’t; please leave me alone _ . Yet he found himself following Ronald to a more secluded spot, where Harry was waiting. He appreciated the fact that he could still see Scorpius from there.

“Whatever this is, I’m not interested in joining the Golden Duo.”

Harry smiled and linked their arms together. Draco felt a fluttering in his stomach and had to keep his hands in check, lest they decided to wander. He was often astonished by the real need to touch Harry, to check that he was real, and given the nervous tick on Ronald’s face, it would be best to keep the loving displays to a minimum.

The redhead coughed. “Well, that confirms a few things. Not what this is about. Don’t freak out, but I bring news.”

Harry’s smile vanished. Draco frowned, disliking the sudden seriousness. “Are you telling us as the Weasel, or as Auror Weasley?”

“The latter.” Draco shuddered and stared at him. “Sorry. They’re moving against you again.”

He felt his world break and resisted the urge to run away with his son and hide in a cave somewhere. Only Harry’s hand slowly rubbing his back, succeeded in keeping him from crumbling.

“How?” Harry asked. “They have my signature. I have guardianship. They can’t—”

“Mate, they’ve found a loophole. Believe me, I already spoke to Robards. The Department is a mess. Files are disappearing, and money is changing hands.”

Filled with disdain and anger, Draco exhaled loudly. “They haven’t learned anything.”

“I think they’re worse. These guys are supposed to be on our side!”

Harry barked a laugh, and it sounded icy. “Our side? Can’t say I’m glad they’re showing their true colours a bit more, but Ron, they’re not on my side. Haven’t been since the trials. I should have realised— shit, can’t even pull any Defeater of Voldemort strings anymore.”

Draco doubted things were that bad for Harry, despite everything that made him flee. Public opinion must still count, after all. He steeled himself. “Who are they?”

Ronald hesitated, but Harry repeated Draco’s question, and he sighed. “Smith.”

“Smith,” Draco repeated, the name tasting sour on his tongue. “Hufflepuff? Our year?”

“Yep, that one. Zacharias.”

Yes, that would do it. Smith’s attitude problem had been worse than Draco’s, but by wearing black and yellow, he’d been quickly forgotten. No one would suspect a Hufflepuff of being such an arsehole, and those who did were quick to forgive, as long as the person wasn’t a Slytherin.

In Draco’s eyes, Smith was only different from him because he hadn’t taken the Dark Mark. He’d been just as nasty, had used the word Mudblood more times than Draco could count, but he’d been sneakier about it. He must have bribed the Hat because he was ambitious and cunning, and his loyalty was only to himself.

And now, he used his grudges to hurt children.

“He’s an Auror?” Draco was disgusted at the thought.

Ronald nodded. “It’s easier to keep an eye on him that way. We know he’s the one behind it, but we need more proof.”

He heard Scorpius laughing and felt his heart drop. “I can’t lose him—”

“I won’t let him, or anyone else, get close to Scorpius or Draco,” Harry hissed. It was only slightly reassuring. “Draco, look at me.”

He was surprised when Harry hugged him and kissed him, and thanked Merlin that the Weasel understood comments weren’t welcome.

Harry then rubbed his nose against his. “Remember the files I brought from the Ministry?”

How could he forget? Hope flared, bright and pure, and his eyes filled with tears he did his best to avoid shedding. “You want to adopt him?”

Beautiful green eyes looked at him softly. “I want to marry you, Draco, and raise him as our son.”

The strangled noise nearby must have been Weasley. Internally, Draco was laughing hysterically. It was an idiotic plan. It made no sense. It was just so Gryffindor that there was nothing to do but believe that Harry was completely sincere and had no hidden motive.

“The Ministry won’t let us,” he whispered, hiding his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. “I can’t even go there to sign anything.”

“Bugger the Ministry.”

Draco stepped back, ignoring the Weasel’s oddly calculating gaze. He couldn’t mean a Muggle marriage, surely. It wasn’t legal. But there were two types of weddings for wizardkind and only one required official acknowledgement. If Harry didn’t want to go through with that one, it could only mean a ritualistic union, but it couldn’t be, right? It wasn’t practised anymore and thus, had been forgotten by the Ministry (with a little help from Purebloods fearing for their traditions).

“You’ll need one witness who knows runes and a neutral party,” Weasley pointed out.

That confirmed it, then. Merlin. He ran a hand through his hair, looked at Harry, who was still smiling, then at Scorpius, who had grown tired of Luna’s stories and was now trying to count his eggs with Longbottom’s help.

“Draco?”

He bit his lower lip. Marriage would secure Scorpius’ future, at the very least, and the idea of being bonded magically to the man who treated him so well sounded fantastic. Still stupidly fast and reckless, but significant nonetheless. Remembering the movies his son had watched at the hostel, he had to admit he felt quite like a Disney princess right now.

He sealed his fate with a shaky grin and an exhaled “Yes, Potter, I’ll marry you.”

He kissed Harry slowly, before losing his nerve, shivering as the other man grabbed on to him. They parted to breathe, and Draco realised they weren’t alone when Ronald interrupted them.

“Smith won’t stop there, mate, but congratulations?”

A flash of anger appeared in Harry’s eyes. Draco gritted his teeth, but he wasn’t too worried anymore.

“He can try,” Harry spat. “He won’t have any legal standing anymore. No loophole in adoption when you also marry the child’s father.”

“Guess I’d better tell Luna we’ll need her runes, then. I’ll watch Scorpius. You guys enjoy yourselves. Not too much. I don’t want to hear anything!”

Weasley left in a hurry, and Draco lost it.

***

_ Dear Lady Malfoy, _

_ Thank you for your reply to my last letter. I’m sorry that no one told you where he was, I didn’t think the Ministry would be that cruel, but I’m not surprised. _

_ I understand that you can’t contact Draco until his probation is over, so please know that I’m willing to talk to you about him. I won’t give him any message or send any from him, because I don’t want to provide the Ministry with ammunition if they try to charge him with something. _

_ I’m glad Lady Greengrass told you about your grandson. I wasn’t sure you knew about him, and I’ve enclosed pictures from the egg hunt. _

_ Thank you, also, for your approval. It’ll be important to Draco to have another ceremony with his mother in attendance sometime in the future. _

_ Speaking of, Draco is very cheerful today. Scorpius even asked what was wrong with him but, to be fair, Draco was singing and dancing with the dog, because he thought no one was watching, so I understand his confusion. _

_ Let me know what you want me to tell you. I’ll say that Draco is reading a horror novel right now and pretends he’s not scared, but he is, that’s for sure. He always makes sure that his feet are not on the floor when he’s afraid, just in case something under the sofa starts to nibble on his toes. _

_ Yours, _

_ Harry J. Potter _

***

_ Potter, _

_ Theo owes me twenty Galleons. _

_ Zabini _

***

_ Potter, _

_ Thank you. _

_ I had no idea he had a kid. The Ministry took my sister, and I can tell with absolute certainty that you’ve saved both of Draco and Scorpius’ lives. _

_ I’m surprised they didn’t try anything sooner. I’ll tell those I trust. You have allies among us; you’ve had us since you wanted to expose them. I support your rash decision, but you’d better be ready to have your home invaded by Slytherin when Draco is free. _

_ See you, _

_ Millicent Bulstrode _

***

Warding was an exciting process. Harry had only used standard protections for his house, but it seemed like Ron thought they were useless, and now Luna was adding complicated runes to the cottage walls. Neville had planted an army of magical plants around the house, making sure they’d be harmless to those who belonged here thanks to a nifty bit of earth and blood magic Harry had never heard of before. Draco, who was keeping his son busy inside, had offered interesting suggestions involving disorientation and brain-addling charms that Ron had been happy to add into the mix.

He couldn’t get over the fact that his once best friend was back at his side to help Draco, of all people, without any judgement or snide glance. It didn’t erase the pain of being cast aside when Ron chose Hermione, but it helped tremendously.

As the edges of the property blurred, Harry smiled wistfully. He’d acted rashly, proposing so soon, and didn’t expect Draco’s answer. But the Malfoy Heir had been raised in a family that still believed in arranged marriages, so perhaps this was the reason why he hadn’t laughed in his face. That, and the indisputable fact that it would make taking Scorpius away almost impossible.

When he thought about the ceremony, planned for the following week, he hoped his parents would be proud of him. Now, however, he needed to help Ron with a series of enchantments requiring two wands, and he was looking forward to it.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry quietly put the book back on the small shelf and readjusted the quilt over Scorpius’ sleeping form. He turned down the intensity of the little light on the wall, set up a monitoring spell, smiled to himself and left the door partly open, then slipped on his shoes and coat and headed outside.

Under the wards, Draco was keeping an eye on Thor. The dog was busy sniffing around, probably because he didn’t recognise the new magic oozing from the ground. Harry took a minute to observe his boyfriend—his fiancé! He was smiling, flicking his gaze from Thor to the sky and back again. He looked content.

Harry slipped behind him, careful not to startle him, and placed an open-mouthed kiss behind his ear. Draco sighed and laced their fingers together, while Thor jumped around them.

“He’s asleep?”

Harry nodded, breathing in the scent of his hair. The enormity of what they would be doing tomorrow made him nervous and giddy. “Are you okay, Draco?”

“Never better.” A soft smile stretched his lips. “Still. Are you sure?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry poked his side. “Again, yes.”

“But I bullied you! I called your friends names—”

Ah, that talk again. Harry knew it wasn’t healthy to avoid discussing their past, but it didn’t mean he enjoyed it. He moved to stand in front of Draco and held both of his hands. “And we gave as good as we got. Yes, you started it, but you were eleven and Ron did laugh at your name.”

Draco’s eyes glimmered, though he kept quiet.

It had taken Harry a long time to understand the importance of names in the wizarding world, but the way things had played out on the train in their First Year now made an odd kind of sense. In his own way, as clumsy as it had been, Draco had been defending his family’s honour. Though, Harry had to admit there was nothing honourable about insulting someone’s family in return.

“Do you want to know what actual bullying is?” he continued softly, his throat tight. “I mean, the severely damaging, should-be-expelled kind? It’s levitating a boy upside down when he’s only wearing underwear under his robes. Old, dirty ones, because his family is poor and he’s an abused child. It’s doing it in front of the entire school and finding it hilarious. It’s humiliating a boy because his hair is a bit too greasy, he’s not always clean, and his nose is too big.” He realised his hands were shaking when Draco squeezed his fingers and took in a big gulp of air. “It’s choosing him as a victim after seeing him for the first time on the Hogwarts Express. It’s knowing he has only one friend and wanting to make sure he knows he doesn’t deserve her. It’s the systematic, constant need to tell him he’s worthless. It’s being so far up your own arse and so convinced that he is indeed less than human, that it’s not a problem at all to try to get him killed by a werewolf.”

Draco swore under his breath and gently framed his face with his palms when Harry let go of his hands. “What are you on about?”

“The Marauders.” He gritted his teeth. He ‘dd never told this to anyone except his therapist, and it felt even better to confide in the man who would share his life. “Kings of the school. Snape never had a chance! And you know what? Nothing you ever did to me, to Hermione, to Ron, even comes close to that. We were prats, and we were equals. We both had friends who had our backs; our rivalry existed to prove who was best. We never thought the other was insignificant, or we just wouldn’t have cared. If you were as cruel as my father, you’d have chosen a victim you saw as weak. Luna would have been the perfect target. I forgave James and Sirius, even Remus for looking the other way and never intervening. If I can do that, you better bet that I can forgive you for using slurs and creating stupid badges. I kept one, by the way. They’re pretty funny now.”

The worried frown on Draco’s face was replaced by wonder, his eyes searching Harry’s face as if it held all the answers. “I nearly killed your best friend. I broke your nose.”

“You had no idea he would be the one drinking that poison. It doesn’t count. I sliced you open, and you almost died. What’s a broken nose compared to that? What you did under Voldemort’s orders—you were under duress. At no point did you ever enjoy it. In the end, we both saved each other’s life. I’m not saying I’m forgetting what happened, but I  _ understand _ , Draco. I don’t care how many times I have to tell you this, but please don’t doubt my reasons for marrying you.”

Harry found himself pushed against the wall of the house and kissed with a passion that lit a fire inside his whole body. He gripped Draco’s shoulders and kissed him back, rough and filthy and brilliant.

“I love you,” Draco breathed against his mouth, then sucked on his tongue until Thor pawed at his legs.

Amused, Harry scratched the dog’s ears. “Yes, we love you too.” An enthusiastic bark, then Harry nearly melted at the soft smile on Draco’s face. He gave him another quick kiss. “I love you more, though.”

The tip of Draco’s ears were bright red when they walked back inside to light a fire and enjoy the evening. It was ridiculously cute.

Harry’s confession about the Marauders had drained him of energy. He felt quite like Thor, who was already snoring, sprawled on his fluffy bedding. Draco brought him a perfect cup of tea, and Harry knew: proposing hadn’t been a mistake.

***

They stood in the middle of a runic circle, away from curious eyes, protected by layers upon layers of Muggle-repelling and Notice-me-not charms. The clearing was quiet and sunny, the day unusually warm. Luna, wearing her odd radish earrings and a long, loose-fitting blue robe, kneeled behind them, both hands firmly on the ground, calling a wild magic Draco had only ever heard of. It smelt like the cobblestones of Diagon Alley after a thunderstorm. There were hints of freshly cut grass, wood and wildflowers in the air, relaxing him when his hands shook.

Harry looked gorgeous with his gentle smile and braided hair. They were about to get married. It was insane. Draco must have done something right at some point in his life if this was a reward. Aside from Scorpius, he had no idea what it could be, but he thanked whatever watched over him.

He picked at the cuffs of his sleeves. He and Harry wore the same white linen robes. Simple, rustic, slightly scratchy. Not what he had in mind for his wedding, but it suited him just fine. Their bonder had come from Finland, a Muggleborn who taught History at a Muggle University. A friend of Andromeda’s, who’d contacted her as soon as Harry told her the news. Erika Orava was quite knowledgeable in obscure magical practices dating back from the Roman Empire and beyond. This particular ritual had Pictish origins, Norse influences and Latin incantations. It was, just like Britain at the time, a mess, but a beautiful one.

The magic it summoned was incredible and so very alive. Draco liked it a bit too much. Could he get drunk on this? No wonder all the old holidays featured dancing. Perhaps he should look into learning those branches of magic.

The air thickened suddenly, and the breeze strengthened. Invisible pinpricks pierced Draco’s feet for a short, uncomfortable moment, and Harry squeezed his hand. He pressed back. When the wind stopped, Erika smiled, and Luna stood up.

“Hold out your hands,” she whispered in that dreamy voice of hers, looking at Harry expectantly. She then placed a stone in his palm and asked Draco to cover it with his right hand. It was warm and buzzing with untamed energy.

He stared into Harry’s eyes, and the chanting began.

With each word, the warmth of the stone grew. Harry was grinning at him, and an overwhelming sense of freedom crashed down on him like a wave on a beach. He forgot to breathe for a few seconds. Every worry, every nightmare, every regret and painful memory were pushed at the back of his mind. The relief was almost too much. To keep himself steady when his legs wanted to let him fall, he sought more contact with Harry, who immediately stepped closer. He buried his face in his neck, still holding onto his hand and the stone, and Harry’s other hand sneaked past his waist and pressed against the small of his back.

“I’m here,” Harry mouthed, careful not to speak louder than Erika.

Merlin, he loved him so much. He took a few deep breaths before moving again, filled with a strange need to be even closer, as if magic guided him and told him what to do. He kissed him.

The stone’s form vanished. Its warmth spread into Draco’s veins. Harry licked into his mouth, and Draco’s cock quickly hardened, encouraged by whatever power was at play here. He didn’t care that they had an audience; he and Harry both knew what they were getting into. There was a reason why these ceremonies were rare and done as privately as possible.

There was nothing rough about their lovemaking at first. Magic turned the grass inside the runic circle into an almost pillowy soil. Sheathed deep into Harry’s arse, Draco gasped in pleasure, catching his lover’s moans with lingering kisses, his fingers running over his body. Sweat pooled on his brow and back. Harry clenched around him, eyes bright, face flushed. Time and reality blurred into each other. Draco couldn’t think. Soon, he was facing down on the grass as Harry’s cock breached him slowly. He pushed back against him, exhilarated, letting out a shuddering breath. It felt so fucking good.

Harry kissed his back, played with his nipples and Draco groaned and begged. The drag of his prick inside him made him delirious. He could only focus on the sensations. There was nothing else, just Harry.

When Harry emptied himself and pulled out, he couldn’t speak. He looked for words. He wanted more. Needed more. Just as he was bringing him trembling hand between his legs, Harry’s tongue greedily lapped at his hole and Harry sucked.

“Oh, my fucking gods—” That whine was wholly undignified, but why should he care? Draco’s arms stopped supporting him, and he only managed to stay put because Harry was holding his legs.

He didn’t remember how many times he came, didn’t understand how he could still get hard and even fuck and get fucked over and over again without rubbing himself raw. It should be hurting. It should be unbearable.

It wasn’t.

He pounded into Harry until the man screamed himself hoarse until their bodies were so sweaty they could barely hold onto each other. He took his cock so deep in his throat that he broke his voice, swallowed his cum and tongued his slit to make him moan uncontrollably. He fucked himself on Harry’s cock until his hole was gaping, yet still asking to be filled.

At sunset, he collapsed on top of his husband. His eyes took in their surroundings. Luna was busy waving her wand around them. Erika wasn’t speaking anymore, but she looked exhausted. She must have chanted all day to keep the ritual going. He tried moving his head to look at Harry, but with the wild magic now slowly slipping away, he was too drained to do anything.

So he closed his eyes and let the darkness embrace him, lulled to sleep by Harry’s steady heartbeat.

***

Harry would be lying if he said his body wasn’t sore. With his recently acquired talent for essential potions, he’d brewed muscle relaxant and pain-killing creams, enough to lather his skin and Draco’s several times during the day. When they’d woken up in the clearing, they’d only slept for a short time but weren’t tired anymore. Luna had explained how the runic circle allowed them to rest in just a few minutes as if they’d had a full night sleep. It had healed the scratches on their backs and prevented the spread of germs. Harry’s embarrassment at their recklessness had only worsened when Luna mentioned some of the things they’d done, speaking as if the topic was Nargles’ eating habits. They’d always used condoms until that day.

It was all well and good, but the runes hadn’t healed their muscles. They’d had to bathe in a freezing river to seal the ritual correctly, a part Harry would be glad never to repeat. But it was all worth it. He was married, and Draco and Scorpius belonged to him. He had a family who loved him—and he would die a hundred times over for them.

Scorpius had spent the entire day and night at Neville’s and came back with many stories. He didn’t shut up for hours, but Harry was too happy to be irritated. Now, walking hand in hand with Draco in the fields behind his home, barely twelve hours after the completion of their bond, he kept a close eye on the child. Thankfully, Scorpius didn’t seem to want to run around, too busy talking and expecting replies. Draco had an endearing half-amused, half-irritated expression. Thor was sniffing around, wagging his tail. Even with the soreness in his arms, legs and back, Harry felt like dancing. There was a spring in his step, and he found himself humming, stopping only when Scorpius giggled and told him he was silly. Draco, in an appreciated show of affection, kissed Harry’s cheek.

“Kissy! Kissy!” Peals of laughter followed. Harry swooped in and hugged the child, peppering his head with kisses to make him laugh even harder. Draco joined in, then Thor started barking and licking them until Harry fell over, eyes watery and ribs painful. He couldn’t stop laughing.

It was the best day of his life.

Scorpius wriggled out of his grasp. “Look! Birdy!”

Still chuckling, he watched the child crouch nearby. Quickly glancing at Draco, he saw some concern on his face, so he went ahead, quietly, to get a look at what Scorpius had found.

“Is a birdy?”

A tiny finger pointed at a nearly naked baby bird. A hideous one, sprawled on its back. Shit, how to explain death to a toddler? He didn’t wish to lie. Draco saved him, though, kneeling next to him and rubbing his child’s back. “Remember when Abel found the mouse?” he said.

Scorpius nodded solemnly. “It dead. Cause it had a ‘cident. We putted it in a box an’ it leaves. In the sky.”

“Yes. I think this bird was very unlucky, too.”

“Gone?”

“It looks like it.”

Just as Harry was admiring his parenting skills, the baby bird chirped, rolled over and blinked up at them. Scorpius squealed. “It’s lived!”

Draco sighed and smiled. “Alive, Scorp. Yes, it is! Not unlucky at all!”

“Huh! Has no feazers.”

“Well, baby birds are born without any. They get feathers later.”

Harry bit his lower lip in sheer relief. Merlin, what was wrong with that bird, playing dead like that? It hopped on its shaky legs, chirped again, then managed to climb onto Harry’s knee and stared at him. Harry’s eyes widened in recognition. This was no ordinary bird.

“Potter, are you a bird magnet?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s Potter-Malfoy. Thank you very much.” He could just hear the satisfaction in Draco’s snort. Gently, he rubbed the bird’s naked back until it let out a beautiful trill—and he knew.

“Fawkes,” he breathed. Another chirp. “Long time no see.”

“That’s Dumbledore’s phoenix?!”

“I’ve seen him like that before. What did you do, silly bird, to trigger a burning day?”

Fawkes was too busy grooming himself to care. When he was done, though, he used his talons to climb up Scorpius’ jacket, then disappeared into his hood, turning it into a comfortable spot to rest. Scorpius was ecstatic and paid attention to his movements as they walked back home.

Harry didn’t care what Luna said about not needing sleep so soon after the ceremony: he was suddenly overcome with a strong urge to nap. Draco, similarly affected, told him it might be their brain realising that Scorpius now had a guardian that could bring him home in a flash if anything happened to him.

He couldn’t have been safer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't planned on turning that ritual into some sort of sex magic insanity, but there it is.


	10. Chapter 10

Fawkes had a few feathers by the end of the week and didn’t leave Scorpius’ side unless Harry or Draco happened to be in the kitchen cutting up fruits. The bird would steal any fruit he could put his crooked beak on. The first time he’d done that, Harry hadn’t paid attention to his presence, focusing on rolling the dough for a tart. Fawkes ate every berry on the countertop in just a few seconds. Since then, fruits were watched closely. 

The presence of a phoenix within their home was soothing; Fawkes would sing a few times a day, bringing a smile on everyone’s faces, and he even played lego with Scorpius, handing him random blocks and enjoying himself. Thor liked him, and all was well. 

Harry took some of this peace and wrapped it around himself like a shroud when he Apparated to the alley beside the Ministry. He needed it to prevent any accidental flare of power that could see him on the front page of the Prophet. 

He slipped past the welcome desk quickly when the witch behind it started hyperventilating and batting her eyelashes at him. Then he had to stand in the elevator with a sputtering employee of the Control of Magical Creatures department who attempted to convince him to add his voice to a new law against werewolves. As a result, he strode into the corridor to the family office with a headache, the tip of his fingers emitting yellow sparks. 

He ran into Ron before reaching the door and thought the Auror robes did his complexion no favour. Apologising for being on edge and not watching where he was going, he noticed he was already calming down—and it made him all the more thankful to have talked to him at the party. Their friendship would never fully recover, but at least he wasn’t filled with dread at the sight of him. 

“No worries, mate.” Ron nodded towards the family office. “Registering?” 

“Just a few things to take care of,” he replied carefully, noting the curious glances of the other witches and wizards. “I’ll come by your office in a few minutes.” 

Ron squeezed his forearm, smiled, and walked away, but suddenly stopped and turned around. His voice called out to him: “Oh, by the way, I’m grabbing some lunch, want to join me?” 

Harry blinked, confused, and almost refused, but something in Ron’s eyes caught his attention. A gleam he’d often seen in Fred and George’s gaze when they were planning something. “I’d be happy to. I’m free for a few hours.” 

The gleam intensified. It was almost Dumbledore-like. “Great. You know where to find me. See you!” 

He waved and continued towards the office. When he entered, he waited for his turn, lucky to have arrived at the end of the previous visitor’s appointment. 

It barely took five minutes: the employee hadn’t lied when he’d allied himself with Harry. With his marriage officially recognised and the adoption papers validated, he barely refrained from hugging the life out of the man. 

Draco had told him he’d been a father in all but name already. He couldn’t wait to go back home and celebrate. But Ron had a plan, and Harry knew it was too important to bail on it. 

He sat on the ratty couch in his friend’s office. Aurors sometimes slept on the job, so most of the higher ranking ones had a place to rest. The sofa looked like it had seen better days. 

“ _Muffliato_. So,” Ron started, biting into a sandwich (he’d made a show of bringing food back with him from the cafeteria). “Smith was listening.” 

Harry gripped his sandwich too hard, spilling half of its contents onto his hands. “Bollocks! _Scourgify_.” He leaned forward and put the sandwich on the nearby desk. “Okay. Smith. Fuck. What’s going on?” 

“I told you some of us were watching him. He left after he heard us. Goldstein is tailing him.” 

Harry’s stomach twisted in horror. “You think he’s going for Scorpius.” 

A knock at the door startled him badly enough to make him jump to his feet and grab his wand. Ron’s hand on his wrist helped slow his breathing. 

“Come in.” 

A visibly pregnant Cho opened the door, eyes widening at the sight of Harry. She wasn’t in Auror robes, but still wore the Department sigil on her breast. She was most likely on desk duty. “Err, is this a bad time?” 

“It’s not.” 

Harry was slightly confused since Ron had previously told him how few of his peers were aware of the events and preparations surrounding Smith. Ron gave him a reassuring smile; he might have had the emotional range of a teaspoon at Hogwarts, but the war changed him and made him very receptive to Harry’s moods. 

Tension bled out of Harry’s body like melted butter, though he was still worried. He would have distracted himself by asking his ex-girlfriend how life had been and when the baby was due, but right now, he didn’t care. He smiled at her, quite sure he looked constipated. Ron, more gallant than Harry had ever seen him, let Cho sit in his place and even offered her a sandwich. She accepted gratefully. 

“Smith took the Floo home fifteen minutes ago,” she said after a bite, and Harry’s gaze on her sharpened. “Five minutes later, the rats went to the Leaky.” 

“Rats?” Harry asked, tilting his head at Ron. 

His mate shrugged. “Easier to say than target one and two. The men who came for Scorpius at the hostel.” 

Just how many people did Ron have in on this? 

“Tony and Lisa are watching them.” Cho showed him a Galleon—and Harry’s smile turned more genuine. It was her DA coin. “Terry says his office is clear.” 

Ron looked thoughtful, then glanced at Harry. “I’ll be right back. Office raiding time.” 

The awkwardness grew until Harry had no choice but to ask about the baby, fidgeting with his wand. He wished he could join Ron, but this wasn’t a Hogwarts adventure. He could get in serious trouble if he were found snooping around the Auror Department. 

“I have a vested interest in this whole story,” Cho eventually said, her dark eyes boring into Harry’s. “I knew about the children’s relocation program—who doesn’t? But they made it sound like social services, with wholly unsuitable parents getting their kid taken away.” 

“They’re targeting people for wearing green and silver at school or having a distant cousin they never even met who happened to agree with Voldemort!” Harry replied hotly. 

Cho shook her head. “I know. I’m not proud of it. Anthony isn’t, either. We should have been helping Ron and Terry from the start—did you know they’ve been working on this thing since they finished their training?” 

No, Harry had no idea. His respect for Ron, dulled by betrayal, sparked anew. Cho rubbed her abdomen, lowered her gaze and sighed. Her fingers tensed visibly, and she smiled bitterly. 

“Anyway, a few days ago, I found listening spells in my and Anthony’s office. I was furious and complained to Robards, who told me to speak to Ron and Terry. That’s how Anthony and I were brought into this whole operation. Lisa is our contact in the Department of Magical Transportation.” 

“Why would anyone listen in on you?” 

She looked back up at him. “You’re speaking to Cho Chang-Nott. I carry the child of a Slytherin.” 

Harry’s stomach churned, and he shivered at the phantom feeling of icy water running down his back. “They wouldn’t. You’re an Auror.” 

“To them, I’m a traitor. This is larger than just Smith and his cronies, Harry. There’s something rotten that was allowed to fester in the chaos after the war. The public endorsed these despicable actions—and I’m sorry to say, but Hermione made her feelings quite clear when you freaked out, and the _Prophet_ is still using her words today. I don’t think she would support what’s going on if she knew how far it goes.” 

The Hermione Harry loved so much wouldn’t. The traumatised, stubborn woman he’d parted ways with? Perhaps not today, after so long, but he wasn’t quite sure. Probably not without healing. He took a few deep breaths to dampen the rage bubbling up in his chest and thought about the manipulative bastards who would stop at nothing to further their agenda, spreading lies and twisting stories to their liking. The press made money, and the people ate it all up. Harry thought about his— _HIS_ —little boy, who looked so much like his dad, who would one day go into the world and carry the stigma of his father’s past. He thought about Cho’s unborn daughter, understanding why her mother clutched the swell of her abdomen. A familiar burst of outrage burned within him. 

He’d felt it when Cedric died, when he’d been railroaded at his disciplinary hearing, when Umbridge tortured him, unpunished. Righteous fury. His nervousness vanished, and he straightened his back, just in time for Ron’s return. 

“Mate, you look ready for war.” 

And Harry’s resolve strengthened. “Whatever you do, from now on, I’m in.” 

***

“Daddy, look!” 

Draco snorted at the sight of his son’s feather crown. The giggling boy was playing in the grass with Fawkes, who kept placing loose feathers and twigs in his hair. Scratching behind Thor’s ears, he wondered why he couldn’t sit still. 

He’d gone outside in the garden with his son shortly after Harry left, because he’d tried reading, playing with Scorpius and practising his rusty magical skills, but hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything. He’d thought the sun would help. It didn’t. 

Then it hit him: he missed Harry. He’d been gone for two hours, and already, loneliness threatened to swallow him whole. 

“I’m insane,” he huffed to himself. 

To keep his mind off his ridiculous emotions, he crouched near his child and handed a daisy to the phoenix. A second later, the bird added it to the crown and preened Scorpius’ hair. This memory would need to be extracted because there were spells to capture images from within a Pensieve. 

Scorpius was telling Fawkes all about the plants he’d memorised recently when the proximity ward sent a tingling sensation down Draco’s arms. Fawkes let out a low thrill. 

Draco stood up, surveying their surroundings, observing the shimmer of the wards beyond the picket-fence. He held his wand tightly, his whole body tense, ready to take Scorpius and run. “Fawkes,” he said between gritted teeth, “If you understand me, protect Scorpius.” 

The bird chirped and vanished in a ball of flames, taking the child away. 

Draco nearly fainted. Deep down, he knew Fawkes had only done as he’d told him to, but still, his son was gone. Any parent would panic. His disappearance put him even more on edge than he already was, and he stared at the fields around the cottage, waiting for any oddity, listening to unusual sounds. When Thor stood and growled, low and threatening, he cast _Homenum_ _Revelio_ and found three Disillusioned wizards and one witch much closer than they should be. The witch, dressed in full Auror regalia, dropped her concealment charm and walked up to the gate, stopping when the wards vibrated. Draco’s stomach dropped. 

He’d last seen Hestia Carrow during the Battle of Hogwarts, heading towards the dungeons with her twin sister. They’d both taken part in the torture of their fellow students under the watchful eyes of their aunt and uncle, though Draco had recognised the reluctance and fear in their demeanour back then. They weren’t Death Eater material—but with the hatred towards Slytherins after the war, he couldn’t fathom why and how the Ministry could employ one of them. A wave of nausea made him lose track of time until the woman spoke: 

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are under arrest for violating the terms of your probation, using an Unforgivable, raping an underage girl and kidnapping her child. You will be sent to Azkaban until the end of your original sentence, and will then be thrown into the Veil. Disable the wards, or we will take them down by force.” 

There was no word to explain the depths of his disgust. His entire body shook with fear and rage. How dare they pin these accusations on him! 

“What the fuck are you trying to do?” he spat. 

Zachariah Smith appeared next to her and smiled, condescending. “Only upholding justice. You have three seconds.” He turned to the other men, whom Draco didn’t recognise. “Get the kid.” 

Draco had never been able to cast the Killing Curse; he had no doubt he could do it now. He kept his wand pointed at Hestia, his eyes flicking back and forth to keep everyone in sight. 

Smith counted down to three, and his goons started to work on runic arrays while he blasted curse after curse at the wards. Draco trusted Weasley, as strange as it sounded. Thor was barking and growling in a way Draco never thought he’d be able to, and it was the only thing anchoring Draco to sanity. 

There was a whooshing sound, and the door of the cottage shot open. Unwilling to tear his gaze away from his enemies but terrified that someone else had found the Floo password, Draco turned slightly to the right, just enough to see the intruder—and to almost weep in relief. 

Longbottom and Ginevra flanked him, their wands pointed at Smith and his friends, who were still hammering on the wards. 

“Nice day for revenge, Malfoy,” Ginevra snarked. 

“A flaming bird brought a guest to the Manor, and Luna stayed behind with him.” 

It took all of Draco’s Slytherin upbringing to keep his composure and not hug Longbottom. Scorpius was safe. Fawkes would be given the best quality fruits until the end of time. But now that he could stop worrying, his anger snowballed. 

The wards started to waver. Not enough to let anyone through, but it encouraged Smith who, for an instant, looked eerily like Bellatrix, with a full, deranged smile and a malicious glint in his watery eyes. 

“You’re going down, Malfoy!” 

Neville took a step forward and aimed his wand at the ground. “ _Plantarum_ _Conciere_!” 

There was a rustling as if a gust of wind was travelling through the plants around the cottage at high speed, and suddenly every vine twisting around the fence and the walls of the cottage shot towards the intruders. Hestia’s eyes rolled in their socket, and she dropped to the ground like a puppet without strings. Smith let out a high-pitched scream, and he and his goons attempted to destroy the plants, but they were relentless. 

Soon, they were tangled up in a mess of foliage, squeezed tight enough that they couldn’t move anymore. Their wands lay useless on the grass below. 

I’m going to Azkaban, Draco thought, weakened by the loss of adrenaline in his brain. He started shaking, leaning into the Weaselette’s touch unconsciously while Longbottom conjured a Patronus. 

Barely a minute after his message was sent, the distinctive noise of Apparition resonated in the countryside, and Draco’s heart leapt in his chest. A group of Aurors, wands blazing, advanced on the scene, led by none other than Harry, who looked like a raging cloud of fury. Draco was sure he was hallucinating the green light in his eyes, the shadows curling like smoke around him—but perhaps Harry’s power was just that strong when stirred. One picture of him looking like that in the Prophet and he would be labelled a Dark Lord. 

The Weasel bound Hestia Carrow with magic-suppressing shackles, while the others, who looked familiar, stunned the men trapped by the plants. Longbottom broke the spell, putting these terrifying guardians to sleep once more, and Harry walked up to Draco, worry etched on his face. 

“Is Scorpius all right?” 

Ginevra let go of Draco, and he didn’t care what anyone would think: he nodded, then let himself fall into Harry’s arms, grabbed the back of his head and kissed him, hard enough to bruise his lips. 

“Thank you,” he sighed, pausing to lick into his mouth and moaning when Harry responded in kind. “Thank you for bringing them.” 

They broke apart. Eyes shut, Draco pressed his forehead against Harry’s and shuddered. Harry’s grip on his back was almost painful. 

“I’m so sorry for leaving you alone. But Draco— where is our son?” 

_Our_ _son_. Draco felt like a bubble of hysterical laughter was about to burst in his throat. 

“He’s with Luna!” Longbottom yelled from far away. Harry let out a long breath and relaxed against Draco. 

Draco opened his eyes but didn’t look at anyone but his beloved. His magic was no longer leaking from his pores. He observed him as the tension left his face and played with his hair before kissing him again. “You need to tell me what’s going on, Scarhead.” 

Harry grinned. “Blame Ron. Git.” He let go of him and turned towards the Aurors. “Do you still need me?” 

A mousy young man shook his head, his name popping up in Draco’s mind. Boot, Ravenclaw in his year. “No. We’ll be back to talk to you though, Malfoy.” 

He didn’t expect anything less. He vaguely heard one of the Aurors who was examining Hestia mentioning the Imperius Curse, but forgot about it when a tiny blond Bludger ran into his legs at full speed, yelling “DADDY!” and giggling. 

He kneeled and embraced his son, welcoming Harry’s arms around him and simply breathing in the scent of firewood permeating the child’s clothes. 

They were alright. 


	11. Chapter 11

_ CORRUPTION, LIES AND MURDER! _

_ by Rita Skeeter _

_ In the post-war chaos, our beloved Ministry attracted unscrupulous individuals who took advantage of our weaknesses to infiltrate the  _ _ Auror _ _ Department. I, Rita Skeeter, investigated those who, unbeknownst to all, orchestrated a shameful masquerade. Find out more about these child murderers on page 3! _

Harry rolled his eyes and tossed the _Daily Prophet_ to the side. It slipped from the table and fell under his chair. He didn’t need to read the article to know that Skeeter would do her best to incriminate Smith and paint him as the evil mastermind behind the entire scheme, which wasn’t incorrect. Still, she’d also make it seem like the Ministry fought fiercely from the beginning, blaming the war and lack of resources for their failure. They would emerge as heroes, the people would love their government, and Harry could only stomp on the newspaper with a scowl.

Draco lifted an eyebrow. “You know, I wanted to read that.” He licked the remnants of his over-sweetened tea from the spoon.

“Then you should thank me. Not worth the suffering,” Harry replied, turning towards the children, who were giggling and waving their spoons dangerously. Scorpius wasn’t a messy eater, but Teddy, who now sported white-blond hair, had an artistic vision that didn’t agree with being clean. He had milk all over his sweater and cereals in his hair.

He unfolded a napkin and leaned closer to his godson to wipe the mess. Aside from a small grimace, Teddy didn’t budge and continued talking about dragons and fire and the pirate cave he wanted to build with Scorpius. He’d gotten a  brand-new Lego set for his birthday.

“Teddy  maded a mess, Daddy,” Scorpius announced solemnly, and Harry felt his lips twitch.

“Made a mess, sweetheart,” he corrected.

“But Papa, he  maded it!”

A warm glow started to burn in his chest, and his heart swelled. He smiled and told him it was fine, which made Teddy grin and promise to be careful. Then Harry ruffled his new son’s soft hair and fought not to hug him and squeeze him: Scorpius had taken to calling him Papa all on his own this morning, barely two days after his adoption, and it drowned him in happiness. Even better, there had been no jealousy on Teddy’s part.

Draco must have felt this unbearable burst of love and pride too, because he stood up, walked around the table and kissed his son’s cheek, then Teddy’s, and finally Harry’s lips, then sat back down and grabbed the _Quibbler_. Harry hadn’t wanted any Wizarding newspaper in his house, but he understood why his husband would wish to keep an eye on things. At least, Luna’s father told the truth as he knew it.

“Well, it looks like you have a new nickname,  Scarhead .”

Childishly, Harry stuck out his tongue at him and took the offered newspaper.

_ HYPOCRISY AT ITS FINEST: VILIFICATION AND BETRAYAL _

_ by  _ _ Xenophilius _ _ Lovegood _

_ You may have heard of Harry James Potter: beloved for a day and despised the next. He was only a child when he rid the world  _ _ of _ _ He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but  _ _ Wizardkind _ _ is fickle, and when Harry put one toe out of line, he became a pariah. _

_ Mister Potter spoke on behalf of ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy at his trial, earning the scorn of those he’d saved. He spoke against the conspiracy targeting the members of Slytherin House, past and present, and was driven to exile by the public’s hatred. And what he was warning us about was allowed to happen. _

_ The Ministry, infested with  _ _ Wrackspurts _ _ since long before the war, finally turned a blind eye to the most disgusting, law-condoned practice we have ever seen in this century (see the Quibbler copy of August 19 1998, October 1, 1998, and January 10, 1999, for our initial reports on this travesty). Children were stolen from their families, resulting in abuse and in some cases, murder, from the men and women who volunteered to take them in. For what? Revenge. Any child was at risk if one member of their family attended Hogwarts as a Slytherin. These crimes went unpunished. Today, we shame these families again, and the ones who pulled the strings behind these actions. _

_ We shame those who, through inaction, allowed this to happen, and we demand justice for the innocents who suffered. We demand justice for Slytherin House! _

_ We demand respect for Harry Potter, friend of  _ _ Nargles _ _ , who has yet to lie to the public, and always has our best interests at heart. _

Aside from wanting to laugh for having reached peak popularity for  Xenophilius if he called him friend of  Nargles , Harry now dearly wished to pay for the dream expedition Luna had talked about. It would be the only way to thank the man sincerely. They had a complicated relationship since the war, but Harry had forgiven him for betraying him and his friends.

He thought it interesting that the situation had already been discussed in past articles and resolved to pay attention to old copies. Luna could probably get them for him. It would make Draco happy to see that not even at the height of all the drama, Slytherins had allies.

The last newspaper was making Draco smirk wickedly, so when he saw what it was, he groaned. “Why did you buy that?”

“There’s a picture. You’re wearing a white shirt, and it’s raining. Why would I not want to buy it?”

“Papa’s all wet!”

Teddy pointed at the moving picture and squealed. “Look,  Scorpi ! Look!”

On the front page, Harry was blinking a flash out of his vision, in typical British weather—this had been taken the previous day after he’d given his testimony to  Auror Robards and brought Draco’s written account of the events with him. Teddy had spotted a woman walking straight into a lamppost in the corner of the picture, so distracted by Harry’s see-through shirt that she’d lost her way.

Now the children were giggling hysterically, and Harry just had to see what this was all about. He had a feeling he would hate it.

_ WITCH WEEKLY EXCLUSIVE: A HOTTER POTTER _

_ You thought Harry Potter was a cutie, with his emerald eyes shining like a thousand stars and his just-shagged hairstyle. You liked how his jeans framed his muscular butt, and you dreamed about those full lips going down, down, down—yes, ladies, you don’t hide it. Own it. _

_ But the last time any of us saw our hero, newly-single after splitting with his girlfriend, war hero Ronald Weasely’s _ _ sister— _

Harry’s grip on the paper ripped a small hole into it. What was so bloody hard about using people’s names? Ginny was more than just Ron’s sister, and someone should proof-read those pieces of junk before they were printed. He shook his head and continued reading.

The article was waxing poetic about his appearance, using so many adverbs and adjectives to describe every part of his body that it made him nauseous. The author had liked him as a scarred, starved eighteen-year-old, invented an entire life for him—including a harem, all the while conveniently forgetting the scandal of his bisexuality. She then dissolved into a heated rant about how breathtaking he looked now that he was older with that tattoo and his facial hair, and honestly, if Harry could scrub that last line out of his brain with some bleach, he’d get right into it:

_ Harry Potter, if you ever need some release, I’ll call you Daddy and let you spank me with those strong, powerful arms. _

Harry had many kinks—but being called that was not one of them. By the time he looked up again, Scorpius and Teddy (with Fawkes, who thankfully wasn’t trailing fruit juice all over the floor this time) had left the table, and Draco was cleaning up.

He started tearing the newspaper apart. “What is wrong with these people?”

“No! Don’t do that!” Draco, with soap on his hands, tried to take it from him, but only managed to destroy the picture and looked devastated.

Harry couldn’t help it. He laughed, stood up and embraced him, then twirled him around. Draco let go of the shredded pieces of paper, grinned, pushed him against the fridge, and Harry forgot the creepy Witch Weekly article in  favour of devouring his husband’s mouth.

Draco’s kisses were like liquid fire, his teeth pulling at his lower lip in the most delicious way and his tongue stroking his own in a slow, maddening pace.

“Kissy  kissy !”

Harry hit the back of his head against the fridge when Draco jumped away from him. Then he sighed, eyeing the two little boys who were peeking from behind the stairs.

He now had an erection to get rid of and had to think about that article again to quicken the process. He heard Draco, who was busying himself with the washing, mutter something about evil little gnomes, and he agreed wholeheartedly.

***

By the end of the week, Harry discovered that Ginny, like the good friend she was, had managed to get her hands on a sold-out copy of the now-infamous Witch Weekly. He’d come home from Tesco and had found her ex drinking beer with his husband in the kitchen, his wet shirt picture proudly displayed on the fridge. He didn’t know why, but this friendship scared him a bit if that was the kind of things they shared. Thank Merlin Ginny hadn’t been interested in taking pictures of him that she could exchange for whatever embarrassing secret Draco knew about him.

But because she was Harry’s best friend, as soon as the grocery bags were empty, she took Thor, Scorpius and Fawkes on a walk, and Harry thanked her in his head when his husband slammed him against the bathroom wall.

Open-mouthed kisses rained down his throat, and Draco started to undress awkwardly, trying to keep kissing him. When Harry began undoing his fly, Draco bit his collarbone through the fabric of his shirt and told him to stop.

Confused and aroused beyond belief, Harry watched him step into the bathtub and under the shower. Draco was such a beautiful human being. Naked, his skin was nearly free of blemishes, though those he did have were often things Harry  fantasised about: the two moles in the crook of his  arse , the tiny scar on his groin, and of course, the curve of his cock. Seeing it harden between Draco’s long legs made his erection strain his trousers uncomfortably. “You’re really going all out with that wet shirt thing, aren’t you?”

Draco gave a dramatic eye-roll. “Get in there.”

He started to remove his trousers and held up a hand when Draco made a noise of disapproval. “I’m keeping the shirt. Take it or leave it.”

“You’re no fun.”

Smirking, he stepped under the hot stream of water and gasped when Draco’s mouth latched onto a nipple through the soaked fabric. Fuck, but he was so good with his tongue!

Then two lubed fingers entered him, and his cock hit the back of Draco’s throat, and he couldn’t stop moaning. Draco had learned a lot in those last few months, and oh,  _ oh _ , that was new—

“Draco, please—” Harry bit his lower lip and let out a low groan. “Please fuck me!”

The hum Draco made in response almost caused him to come. But it looked like Draco had chosen to milk his prostate instead of giving him what he wanted.

The metallic handle on the wall was put to good use when his legs almost gave out under him. He stared at Draco, with his hair stuck to his pretty face, cheeks hollowed, pink lips wrapped around him, erection hanging heavily between his legs. “Oh gods, I want your cock so bad—”

Draco let go of his cock, licking a stripe from root to tip and removing his fingers from his  arse . Harry gladly turned around when asked, but instead of a thick length spreading him open, it was Draco’s tongue. Harry’s cock was leaking, he was already on the brink, and it felt so bloody good! Draco ate him out like a starving man, the noises filthy and incredible, adding a finger to stroke his insides, occasionally biting his  arse and eventually, just as Harry thought he couldn’t take anymore, Draco stopped, stood up and slipped his cock into his wet hole.

“Potter, look at you, swallowing me.”

A kiss on his back, teeth sinking into his shoulder, no doubt leaving a mark through the drenched fabric of his shirt.

Draco snapped his hips forward and let out a shuddering breath. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. So beautiful.”

Harry’s toes curled. He pushed back against the intrusion, the drag inside him turning him to mush. Draco fucked him excruciatingly slowly, rubbing his stretched hole with his thumb, then pressing down until his finger joined his cock inside him. Harry hissed at the delicious burn. He wanted more. Draco quickened the pace until they almost hurt themselves. Choosing safety over awkwardness, Harry kneeled in the tub and let Draco pound into him—and when Draco came inside him, pulled out, and pushed his cum around with his fingers, Harry lost it and finally let go.

He shivered and blushed when Draco mouthed at his hole hungrily. Turning around when he was able to breathe normally again, he found him deliciously flushed, cum slowly dripping down his chin and eyes bright.

Then he thought about what led them to that particular moment, and he started laughing.

Draco chuckled and told him to send a thank you card to  _ Witch _ _ Weekly _ .

***

Days and weeks passed. Draco kept thinking the ball would drop, that he couldn’t be this happy forever, but so far it hadn’t happened. He was almost free. With the scandals that journalists uncovered day after day, he trusted Harry when he told him the Ministry wouldn’t dare fabricate anything against him again.

The false accusations had gotten out, along with the truth concerning Hestia Carrow, held under the  Imperius and forced to act against her former Housemates. After all, just meeting her would have been enough to ruin Draco’s probation, as he was forbidden from being in contact with a Slytherin. With two Death Eaters heavily involved in the torture of Hogwarts students as aunt and uncle, Hestia and her sister had been targeted immediately after graduating. Flora had been found in solitary confinement in the Ministry cells—there was only one of this kind, for extremely unruly prisoners, or detained Werewolves on the full moon. According to her lawyer, she’d been kept there because she was able to throw off the  Imperius and wasn’t of any use to Smith and his friends.

Hestia had a quick trial that had been interrupted by none other than a furious Harry, and both women were now recovering in a medical facility over the pond. They didn’t trust St Mungo’s, and Draco couldn’t blame them.

Almost every copy of the Prophet now included pictures of Harry, and they had a new section, called  Saviour Sightings, with the most ludicrous hypothesis regarding his presence at the Owl Emporium or his choice of ice cream. Draco made sure to show him how thankful he was for sacrificing his time and his peaceful retreat to mingle with  wizardkind again, just because now that most things were out in the open, he had some sway over the proceedings.

But Harry didn’t seem to mind. For now, the public was on his side, and that meant his actions were helping. He spent most of his days at the Ministry, leaving Draco and Scorpius at home but making sure to keep enough free time for them. Kreacher, who sobbed the first time he’d  realised his Master was wed to a son of the House of Black, was helping with chores when needed. And Draco himself was, indirectly, working to right all those wrongdoings. He and Harry discussed everything, took decisions together and often spoke with the Weasel, Boot and Goldstein, who kept them updated on matters they shouldn’t share.

Still, they both hoped it would die down soon, so they could go back to their quiet life.

Draco’s birthday came and went, and brought with it the best news so far: every stolen child was now back with their family. Draco’s vindictive side wanted to know what would happen to those who had harmed them, but this was mostly kept out of the paper.

He and Harry brought Scorpius and Teddy to the pool and taught them how to swim. They loved the water. Teddy slept over for the first time in July: Harry’s emotions were in such disarray that Draco just held him and didn’t let go. Harry had been so strong for him since the beginning, and it was his turn to comfort him. And Draco didn’t mind at all.

Time went by quickly. On a sunny morning, he was awoken by a hoot and found a ruffled owl perched on the nightstand. It gave him a poisonous glare.

“You made it through the wards, didn’t you?” Harry had adjusted the anti- owls wards to allow specific birds through, but that one was new.

The owl held up its leg, unimpressed. “Hoot.”

Stifling a yawn, Draco sat up, gently moving Harry’s arm which was circling his waist. He took the letter and the bird left, quite impolitely at that. Then he saw the Ministry seal on the envelope and froze.

Forget being careful and quiet, he poked Harry’s shoulder, feeling like he would never breathe again if he had to read that on his own.

“What’s wrong?” Harry mumbled, blinking up at him.

He opened his mouth to reply, in vain.  _ Words, Draco. They’re useful. _ He cleared his throat and pointed at the letter.

Harry grabbed his glasses and sat up. “Oh! Is that  your summon?”

“I don’t know.”

It must’ve been. Still afraid to open it, in case they’d just sent Draco something awful instead, he had to dig deep into his upbringing to stay calm, Occlude, and suppress the unseemly tremors of his hands. Mother would smile, and Father would tell him to stop stalling. And  Scarhead just kissed his shoulder and waited—because Harry understood what he was feeling and why he might not want to rush into things.

It was only when he heard the sound of Scorpius’ little feet climbing the stairs that he chose to act. With a meaningful glance at Harry, he opened the envelope, and all the tension bled out of his body.

He was summoned at nine in Courtroom Five. He was officially allowed to enter the magical world and interact with Slytherins until a decision was made and would be escorted by the Weasel.

Nine. They sure liked to announce those things last minute! He shot out of bed just as his son ran into the room and dove into Harry’s arms.

Harry was smirking at his frazzled movements. It was seven, yes, but Draco wouldn’t enter the Ministry looking anything less than his best.

“No robe,” Harry said, holding Scorpius close, and yes, he was right. It would be best if he didn’t shove his  _ Malfoyness _ into everyone’s faces. Not that he owned any of those expensive clothes anymore, but he sometimes wore Harry’s, and against all odds, he approved of the design and quality.

Instead, he chose to wear Muggle clothes. His bartender suit would do, with its waistcoat and form-fitting trousers. He listened to Harry and Scorpius discussing their plans for the day, then kissed both of them and headed towards the bathroom, hearing some last words before their voices were too far to be understood.

“Your Daddy is meeting important people today. Do you want to make biscuits for him?”

“We make them like  dwagons ?”

Draco shut himself in the bathroom and smiled like a loon.

***

The seat was purposefully uncomfortable. Oddly, the Weasel’s presence nearby was soothing, which was useful when Draco’s nerves made him so jittery. He  recognised some members of the  Wizengamot , who were glaring at him with barely concealed hatred.  Mrs Marchbanks, who sat next to Head  Auror Robards, presented her case, revisiting Draco’s trial. She then looked at him, her glasses low on her nose in a rather convincing impression of Dumbledore.

“You are Draco Lucius Malfoy, born on June 3, 1980?”

His hands were clammy when he pressed them against his thighs, his mind snarling “Malfoy-Potter” but his brain preventing him from saying it aloud. “Yes.”

“Can you confirm your current residence for me?”

He gave the address of the cottage, saw her frown, and added that he’d had to leave the hostel he lived in when Smith threatened to take his child away. Murmurs, angry and confused, grew louder in the room. Were they mad because of Smith, or because the man’s plans had failed?  Mrs Marchbanks jotted a note on her parchment.

“I have a copy of the guardianship papers filed to protect your son. What is your current relationship with Harry Potter?”

He cringed internally. “We’re married.”

“I can confirm that Magic  recognises Harry James Potter as Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy’s second father,” a man with round cheeks and a cheery disposition claimed. He was wearing a badge from the Wizarding Children’s Services.

Again, everyone muttered under their breath.

“Very well. I have here a list of charges found in possession of Hestia Carrow. I’ll read them out to you. Please do not be alarmed. This is only to clear the air.”

He fought against the rising fury in his head. He denied having knowingly met with Slytherins, having used the  Imperius on Harry—at that, the Weasel added that  Scarhead could resist the Dark Lord’s attempts and would probably not even feel Draco’s. He should’ve been insulted. When the sexual assault charge was brought up,  Mrs Marchbanks asked the  Aurors to let the witnesses in.

Draco’s eyes widened.

He saw Theo, with dark circles under his eyes and the scruffy, unkempt look that came as a lovely bonus with a newborn baby. His eyes prickled when Pansy, so elegant and sexy in her red heels and Muggle shorts, waltzed into the room like she owned it. He exchanged a glance with Blaise, finding only calm and serenity and relaxing slightly. Then she followed.

Astoria was everything a young Pureblood woman should be, according to Draco’s father. She held herself with grace, wearing long, flowing robes sufficiently neutral for such a setting. Her hair was held up in a complicated braid, and she wore a betrothal ring on her left ring finger. When Blaise pulled out a chair for her, Draco’s eyebrows rose in understanding.

They revived that night for the ears of the  Wizengamot , some of them having drunk less than Draco and remembering more of it. The Weasel was blushing so furiously that it was a wonder he didn’t explode.

And then, in the most anticlimactic ending Draco could have hoped for, the charges were dismissed. His friends, now in the empty viewing gallery, were unnervingly still.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,”  Mrs Marchbanks  clamoured , glaring at the noisy men and women around her until they stopped talking. “This court finds your recent missteps acceptable given the circumstances. We commend you for your dedication to your child, your integration in the Muggle world and your adherence to most of our rules. The Malfoy vaults keys are waiting for you at Gringotts. You are now a free man.”

The world blurred. Draco wouldn’t cry; he couldn’t. He was numb and had no idea where he was or what was happening until the Weasel called his name. Then he found out some time had gone by. The courtroom was empty, save for the redhead, and Draco’s friends. Shaking, he stood up and opened his mouth to speak.

He was crushed in a tight embrace before he could say a word. There was wetness—someone, perhaps Pansy, was crying. Or maybe it was just him. “I missed you guys,” he said, and it sounded suspiciously like a whimper.

Someone hit his arm. Hard. Pansy. Who else would it be? “I can’t believe you went and got married to the Golden Boy!”

“Aah, Pans, he’s living the dream.”

“We always knew,” Theo replied, grinning. “So, is now a good time to tell you I’d like you to be Evelyn’s godfather?”

Draco’s throat made a noise he would deny ever producing. Malfoys couldn’t afford to be so emotional, and he was embarrassed but so brilliantly happy. He couldn’t wait to go home and tell Harry, then meet the newborn of his loner friend and Chang.

He could see his friends again. He could visit Mother! And he needed to rush home so he could cry in his husband’s arms and hug his child.

The thought of his son reminded him that Astoria was here. He disentangled himself from his friends’ clutches and looked at her, expecting disapproval, but finding a soft smile instead.

“I’m sorry—”

She stepped closer and held his hands. Her fingers were cold. “For what?”

“For—well, getting you pregnant, ruining your reputation—”

“Draco, don’t do that. My mother sent me to South America as punishment for my wicked ways.” She rolled her eyes. “It backfired. Blaise was there too.”

Zabini grinned. The thought of him marrying a sweet girl like Astoria must have caused pure pain to Lady Greengrass.

He bit the inside of his cheek and studied her face. She was careful, showing very little, but there was an eagerness there, something so intense she couldn’t hide it. He knew exactly what to do. “Do you want to meet Scorpius?”

All traces of the Pureblood woman vanished as she jumped into his arms, nodding enthusiastically. She seemed to have lost her voice, so he sought out Blaise’s gaze. The other man smiled, and Draco finally accepted that yes, things were alright now.

He was free.


	12. Epilogue

_ Hey mate, _

_ Australia is really hot. I think my brain conveniently forgot about the spiders, too. You have no idea how huge they are. There was one at the bottom of the pool. Just chilling, alive and well. _

_ Anyway, I wanted to wish you a merry Christmas. There’s a toy kangaroo for  _ _ Scorp _ _ and a koala for Teddy in the box. Say hi to the Ferret for me. _

_ I know you don’t want any news about Mione, but I think you should know that part. I’m not trying to excuse her, and the way we fought was bollocks, so I don’t want to go back to that weird not-friendship we had. Something came up in Smith’s trial that Robards hid from the papers. _

_ Remember, right after the war, when she wasn’t sleeping anymore and just studied Werewolves laws? We weren’t paying attention at the time, but  _ _ apparently, _ _ she could’ve succeeded. Well, Smith didn’t like that. He hexed her. _

_ The curse magnified her feelings. So, yes, she did think all that stuff, the trauma is there, but you see what I mean? She wasn’t entirely herself, PTSD or not. Once her parents remembered everything about her, they noticed. She’s at the Wizarding hospital in Melbourne, and there’s hope, but she’ll need even more Mind Healing than I thought. _

_ All this to say that I don’t want to abandon you, but she needs me right now. Maybe one day, you guys can meet again. _

_ Robards transferred me to the Australian Ministry for now. Write to me? _

_ Ron _

***

“How is my  favourite little man?” Abel’s voice boomed across the play park, and Scorpius wiggled until Draco let go of him.

With a soft smile, he watched his precious mini-me run towards the man who’d been their lifesaver when they lived at the hostel. It had been almost a year, and Draco felt terrible about only calling once. So, instead of a walk in the fields, he’d arranged a meeting.

Harry’s arm snaked around his waist, his solid body pressing against him. He was warm and reassuring—and well, Draco would be lying if he said he didn’t love holding his hand and glancing at the matching rings on their fingers.

They’d held a Ministry-approved ceremony with their friends and family a few weeks back. Draco’s mother walked him to the altar, head held high, and Scorpius and Teddy took care of the flowers and rings. Longbottom stood as Harry’s best man, Pansy as Draco’s. Then Andromeda made up with her estranged sister at dinner, and Pansy, Astoria and Ginevra drank so much they sang utterly idiotic songs loud enough to bring two  Nifflers out of their hiding spot. The creatures wreaked havoc on the venue until Fawkes chased them away. Later, Scorpius stole the show with a burst of accidental magic that turned every appetizer into steamed broccoli, which prompted George Weasley to worship the tiny human.

It was a beautiful day, with a memorable evening, and Draco wouldn’t have it any other way. With the children all sleeping over at Cho’s and Theo’s, who’d gone home early, the party had turned slightly insane. Draco would never forget the part where Blaise tripped and caught himself on some draperies, bringing an entire wall’s worth of decorations down with him. By morning, the Weasel had bonded with Millicent over the  Chudley’s Cannons, Pansy had slept with George and Lee Jordan, and Luna had convinced a drunk Ministry official to add  Nargles to the list of dangerous magical creatures.

The  _ Daily Prophet  _ got wind of the events and Harry had to reinforce the anti-owl wards once again:  the Wizarding World wasn’t ready to accept that Harry’s coming out hadn’t been a mistake. Draco was also glad to avoid getting Howlers every morning. The last letter they’d let through had been from the Weasel, and Draco wouldn’t forget it any time soon.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry murmured in his ear.

Draco blinked, memories fading to the background. He leaned into his husband’s touch. “How we got there. What we’ve been through.” He turned to face him, wrapping his arms around him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “How I’ll thrash you at Quidditch once we finish building the pitch.”

Harry laughed, holding him tighter. “That’s not happening.”

“Scared, Potter?”

“You wish, Malfoy.”

They kissed again, feeling the wind in their hair and hearing Scorpius talk about kissy-kissy to Abel, and right at this moment, all was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! I'm very sorry for the long wait, and I hope you enjoyed this story! I absolutely loved writing Scorpius. I have many more stories, so don't hesitate to check those out if you like what I write!

**Author's Note:**

> _I'm on Twitter:[FuzzyJawa](https://twitter.com/FuzzyJawa)_   
>  _And on Tumblr, so come talk to me, I don't bite:[PenguinAnimagus](https://penguinanimagus.tumblr.com)_


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